


The Fifth Wheel

by star_slayer



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance, Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gay Keith, Lancelot - Freeform, Lotor as previous Blue Paladin, M for some mature themes, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, The Blade of Marmora - Freeform, klance, klance is probably endgame jsyk, latino lance, shallura - Freeform, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_slayer/pseuds/star_slayer
Summary: When a casual mission turns into a Galra ambush, Lance makes a sacrifice that saves his friends... but leaves both him and his Lion at the mercy of the Galra. While the Voltron paladins and their fearless leaders devise a rescue mission, Lance gets to know the complex inner workings of the Galra. Specifically, Prince Lotor, who is not as he seems.Even as the Galra prince seems to have good intentions, he doesn't always outline his plans. Lance has to make difficult choices between Voltron, their trust and freedom, or the elusive Prince on his quest to destroy the Galra from the inside... And maybe, if he plays along, Lance can see his family again.





	1. A Horrible Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's POV  
> Losing Lance  
> Meeting Prince Lotor

Lance is the worst pilot _ever_. Keith says as much as the wormhole closes behind the castleship, leaving Lance and the Blue Lion behind. To face a Galra fleet alone.

Chaos erupts on the comms. Keith remains silent as he registers what has happened, barely cognizant of the other three paladins and the Alteans spinning off ideas and rejecting them as quickly as they are made.

“Allura, turn the ship around, we have to go back!”

“We can’t, Shiro! We have to exit the wormhole first to start another jump.”

“As soon as we exit this wormhole, get ready to start another one. Pidge, do you remember the coordinates?”

“Princess, we can’t go back there. Did you see that fleet? We’ll be slaughtered!”

“I remember the coordinates, Shiro, but Coran’s right, we can’t just show up again--”

“How did this happen? Lance was right behind me!”

“That spell, the one Haggar sent. It was streaking straight toward you two, Hunk. He must have used his momentum to propel you through the wormhole to the ship--”

Keith is just aware enough of his surroundings to guide Red into the Lion’s hangar. As soon as the Lion is secure, he jolts from the cockpit and races to the command center, where the others converge on an increasingly distressed Allura. Her hands fly across the holoscreen and her eyes dart over the data points. Searching for Lance, for a safe place to transport them and get the Blue Paladin back.

“Guys, we have to go back right now or Lance is toast!” Hunk cries.

Coran turns toward his station. “Perhaps if we can activate the cloaking device Pidge and I have been working on, we can try sneaking into their defenses--”

“Coran, no,” Pidge says. “That technology isn’t ready yet. And we’ll be putting the whole castleship in danger.”

“Pidge is right.” Shiro watches Allura’s screen with her as though he understands its contents. “The ship’s particle barrier can’t withstand another attack. We have to find another way.”

Hunk gasps and whirls to see Pidge. “Doesn’t the Green Lion have cloaking abilities? You could maneuver past their defenses and--”

“No way,” interrupts Shiro. “It’s too dangerous, and you’d need Voltron to have any hope of surviving that fleet.”

Allura says, “I’m trying to find Lance’s beacon, but something is causing interference.”

The warped blue of the wormhole fades away as it ejects them into space, galaxies away from the Galra fleet, and from Lance. Keith clutches his Bayard tight as he remembers seeing the jagged spell racing toward the castle out of the corner of his eye. If not for Lance, that spell would have caught the castleship and destroyed the wormhole, trapping all of them and leaving them defenseless prey to the Galra ships. Keith had seen what it did to the Blue Lion when it struck; the impact caused a flash of light that still dazzled his eyes. Then he had shouted in fear and panic as the wormhole closed: _You are the worst pilot ever!_

Keith’s eyes sting. If those would be his last words to Lance, he would never forgive himself.

Lights flickering in the command center bring him back to the present situation. Allura gasps. “There’s a signal overriding our systems. It’s-- It must be coming from the Galra.”

The paladins and their Altean companions watch in silence as the lighting blinks out, plunging them into darkness, before returning an ominous violet. Allura’s screen reopens. Keith’s first thought is _Haggar_ when he catches sight of lavender-white hair and Altean-like features, but he realizes a beat later that the figure’s yellow eyes and purple skin are Galran. The figure smirks down at them from Allura’s screens, as though enjoying their confusion.

“Lotor,” hisses Allura.

“The Blue Lion is mine, and Voltron will be next,” says the figure. “Don’t worry for the Blue Paladin; we shall surely find some use for him.”

The screen goes black. Coldness spreads through Keith’s chest and extends to every limb.

_You are the worst pilot ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter. There is more to come, and some kind thoughts on this project would be much appreciated as it develops. Some notes:
> 
> 1\. The Lotor who appears in this fic is NOT based on canon (of course, because he hasn't shown up on the show yet!) Yes, I don't know what Lotor will look like/act like, but I'm basing this concept of him on the fandom's interpretation, which I find amazing.
> 
> 2\. A lot of the vocabulary in here is based on the show, but where I don't know what something is called, I substitute a word. (For example, the "holoscreens." I assume we all know what I mean by that?)
> 
> Thanks!


	2. The Prince of the Galra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's POV  
> Meeting Prince Lotor  
> The Blue Lion is tougher than you thought  
> Prince Lotor flirts, mostly with himself

When Lance lived close enough to the beach to go every day after school, before he had enrolled in the Garrison, he used to surf.

Surfing was his escape from a noisy, packed household and the responsibilities waiting there, not to mention a thrill to crest a wave with the knowledge that he could lose his balance and plunge into the water. He wasn’t half-bad. And girls dig surfers. Sometimes, though, while waiting for a wave large enough to surf or just because, he would simply lie on his board and float.

His endeavors with surfing lessened once he got a taste of flying, but those moments of complete thoughtlessness stood out to Lance in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Focusing only on the waves rocking the board, surrendering his worries to the whim of the ocean and the wind… The closest word he had to describe it was “peace.”

Lance felt that same emotion now and again, when he was flying the Blue Lion. It was like they both needed a break from the pressures of keeping up with a superiorly talented team, the responsibility of protecting the universe, the necessity to justify every move and action as some benefit to said team or universe. In quiet moments, though rare, Lance liked to go with Blue for a trip that didn’t mean war.

As the closest and largest Galra ship catches Lance and Blue in its particle beam, Lance thinks for a moment that this is that feeling. Blue fails to respond to any gesture from Lance, and Lance fails to make much of an effort to escape. As the beam draws them in, he realizes that this is that feeling of surrender, but with none of the peace.

Whatever stupid thought that had taken over Lance’s brain--or maybe it was Blue’s? Sometimes they were so alike it was hard to decipher whose idea came first--was so impulsive that it didn’t consider what a spell like that meant for a 10,000 year-old castleship would do to a Lion, or its Paladin.

The entire cockpit had filled with light and an overwhelming pressure that stopped Lance from moving or crying out to his team. Blue’s mechanisms seized; though Lance recovered enough to try the thrusters, they were jammed tight.

_I can’t move my legs…_ Lance thought as he and Blue drifted. Even as he knew the Galra must be drawing near and he was now defenseless, he was so drained that he couldn’t even make himself feel panic. He’s glad his friends are safe, but there’s no telling what the Galra will do to Blue and him.

The Galra beam highlights the dark interior of the Blue Lion and reverses her drift toward its source. “Keith?” Lance tries, remembering Keith’s voice last before Blue’s entire system went down. His voice garbles like he hasn’t spoken in vargas. “Allura? Anyone?”

As the light grows stronger, a trickle of energy returns to Lance, enough that he can grab the Bayard strapped to his belt. If the Galra thought they could take Blue without a fight, they were about to be sorely corrected.

The starry void outside the glass shield is slowly replaced with the violet-tinged, metal interior of a Galra ship. The hatch that had opened to receive the beam’s prey shut with a bang. Lance catches his breath. As the beam gently sets the Lion down in the ship and releases her, Lance nudges the emergency evacuate handle with his shoe. Blue’s mouth forces open, exposing the cockpit and the Paladin waiting with his Bayard, a plasma gun.

Lance waits. His heartbeat picks up slightly, but he still can’t muster the energy to feel afraid.

He was expecting a team of Galra cronies to rush forward and rip him out of the control seat. Instead, a lone, cloaked Galra approaches, casually, heels echoing oddly in the all-metal room. Lance’s eyes narrow as he tracks each movement.

The Galra stops several paces from the cockpit, but close enough that Lance sees the yellow gleam of their eyes and long white hair. They raise one hand, as though in greeting, and project their voice. “And you must be Voltron’s newer, bluer Paladin! Welcome! Your name is... Hunk, if I’m not mistaken?”

Lance fires once at the alien’s torso. The Galra’s arm comes down fast enough to produce an energy shield that deflects the shot.

“Aww, rude,” the Galra chides. “You almost made me spill my drink.”

“Stay back,” Lance grunts.

Armed Galrans surge forward from the shadows, so quickly that Lance isn’t prepared enough to aim. He reacts, firing two more shots that miss and scorch the ground, before three Galra soldiers reach him, take his weapon, and force him from the Lion.

The figure says among the trooping soldiers, “Guys, I _had_ this--” but Lance doesn’t care about that. He resists the Galrans’ hold as much as he can in his state, twisting and pulling weakly. All this movement makes him so disoriented that he stumbles. “Let go! Let go, you quiznaking monsters! You can’t take Blue!”

Something makes the Galra stop and growl. For a moment, Lance thinks it must be his top-shelf insults and racks his brain for more. “Th-That’s right! You’ll regret this, you stupid, evil aliens! Just wait until I whip out my secret moves, then you’ll run crying back to Zarkon! I--”

“Someone shut that Earthling up!” says one of the soldiers.

An open palm connects with the back of Lance’s head. Stars explode in his eyes as he slides to the floor. Before blackness takes over his vision, he catches a glimpse of what must have actually upset the Galra.

Blue, his strong, dependable Blue, has somehow reactivated her particle barrier.

\--

Snippets of sound reach Lance before he wakes up.

“Sire, are you certain you want to be left alone with him?”

“For the last time, Lorgash, I’ve got this.”

“I do not think it is wise, Sire. Your mother would not approve…”

“Who is your leader? Mother, or me? I assure you, general, that it’s me you should be afraid of. Do I have to punish you for insubordination?”

“N-No, Prince Lotor. I apologize for my insolence. _Vrepit sa._ ”

These last words jolt through Lance and remind him of what has happened. He snaps awake and takes in his surroundings. Though it only feels to Lance like a tick has passed, he realizes he is in a completely different setting. Gone are most of the Galra soldiers except a few leaving through a sliding metal door. When it clangs shut behind them, there is only one person in the room with Lance: the figure who had first approached him before.

The figure turns to face him now. Lance avoids the yellow eyes and focuses on the room. The only light comes from the energy fields, leaving the Galra a few steps away in shadow. This room is not as big as the one that scooped up the damaged Blue Lion, but it is long and narrow; perhaps three people could stand side-by-side before their shoulders touched the wall. If that doesn’t seal the claustrophobia, Lance’s body is pinned on the wall opposite the door by a purple electric energy field blanketing him neck to heel. He can’t even twitch a finger. No doubt, this is some kind of a sick Galran idea of a holding cell.

The figure starts, “Now, you’re probably wondering--”

“Let me go, you Galra scum!” Lance cries as he whips his head right and left. Though he’s trying to struggle, only his head can move. Stupid Galran tech. “Just wait until my friends show up and kick your alien butt! Then you’ll be sorry!”

The figure scoffs and folds his arms. “Your friends aren’t coming for you, Blue Paladin, so I suggest you listen to what I--”

“NEVER!” He shakes his head more. Of course his friends are coming for him; the Galra can’t trick him.

Lance is too busy giving himself whiplash to notice the Galra move to a control panel on the wall and give it a few taps. A stripe of that same energy field that binds Lance’s body loops around his forehead and smacks his head back against the wall.

“There,” says the Galra. “By the way, I can tighten your restraints until your eyes pop out of your skull, so I suggest you listen to what I have to say.”

Lance tries a few ticks more to move at all now; the best he can do is grunt as his efforts go to waste. After tiring himself out, he contents himself with glaring at the figure.

“Thank you. As you’re probably wondering who I am, let me introduce myself.” The figure steps closer, heels echoing off the metal floor, until his face is illuminated by the purple light of Lance’s bonds. “I am Prince Lotor. I command the Galran empire after Voltron defeated my father.”

Lance can’t hold onto his glare as he stares at Prince Lotor. Though the purple skin and yellow eyes remind Lance of Galra, the pointed ears and sharp facial features are… Altean? He thinks the dark red marks glowing underneath Lotor’s eyes are like the blue marks that Allura and Coran have.

His long violet hair is pulled back in a ponytail--Lance remembers that it was closer to white in normal lighting. For a Galran prince, he is surprisingly--Lance is disgusted to think the word, but he can’t help noticing--handsome.

“You’re… not like other Galra,” Lance says.

“You’re sweet,” says Lotor. “I’m half Altean, the only one of my kind. Don’t worry, I knew my stunning appearance would confuse you, so I chose to get this out of the way first. Go ahead and stare.”

_And Allura calls_ me _vain_ , Lance thinks. Since he can’t turn his head away, he closes his eyes. He refuses to give the hybrid prince the satisfaction.

“By the way, we had to dispose of your helmet,” Lotor continues. “Sorry, but we can’t have anyone trying to track you here. Not that anyone is, but just a precaution, you know.”

“Do whatever you want to me, I’m not betraying Voltron.”

Lotor sighs, “I wish it were that simple.” Lance’s eyes snap open again when he feels soft, clawless fingers stroking the curve of his ear. “Your ears, they’re so…”

“Yeah, ugly, I know,” says Lance, remembering Allura’s first words to him.

“No, _adorable_.” Lotor takes his hand back and smiles indulgently. “And you have such pretty blue eyes.”

_Wait._

_Wait, wait, wait._

Lance’s brain stalls. Is this… is the Prince of the Galra, the most fearsome race in the entire universe, his captor and interrogator… _flirting_ with him?

“I…” he tries.

Lotor chuckles and says, “Are all paladins of Voltron this cute?”

“Y-- You’re using your jedi mind tricks on me,” Lance blurts, his face heating. “You’re going to read my mind and steal my memories so you can get Voltron! I know it!”

In response, Lotor returns to the panel. Though he’s shadowed once again, the yellow eyes gleam from the darkness. “No, Blue Paladin. I’m hoping once I tell you my plans to destroy the Galra, you’ll want to join me. Isn’t that Voltron’s purpose? Your purpose?”

He pauses, as though waiting for a response, but Lance doesn’t understand. “I’ll explain everything, but not here,” the prince says as he taps at the control panel. Suddenly, the light bonds retract, dropping Lance on his feet. “Let’s go somewhere more… civil.”

With the restraints gone, a pale light flickers on above. The cell really is as small as Lance thought, but not as intimidating under plain light. The prince takes a step toward Lance, but he backs away, into the far left corner. It’s instinct.

“You have plenty of reasons to doubt me, I know that,” says Lotor softly, “but I hope you’ll give me a chance.” He extends a hand to the paladin. When Lance still hesitates, he adds, “Or you can go back up on this wall. It’s your choice.”

It’s not much of a choice at all. Though, if Lance is honest with himself, a part of him is intrigued by the prospect of collaborating with Lotor. He forces down his fear and nods.

“Fine, but you’re still Galra scum,” says Lance coldly.

Lotor retracts his hand. “Very well. Follow me, paladin.” The door slides open, and Lotor leads the way.

Lance allows a few feet of space between them as he follows, and he finds himself saying, “And my name’s not ‘paladin,’ it’s Lance.”

Lotor just glances over his shoulder, smirking, and leads Lance through the violet halls deeper into the Galran ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I just wanted to add that although this story takes place after Season 2 with Zarkon's defeat/coma/death, Shiro did NOT disappear. I don't want to tackle that and the Lancelot arc at the same time, so in this story, Shiro is still the pilot of the Black Lion. (Also, I ship Shallura, so he needs to, you know, not be missing.)
> 
> Comments are so kind and always, always appreciated! Thank you to those who have left comments and kudos. They mean a lot. :)


	3. An Unexpected Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance POV  
> Lotor's motivations revealed  
> Alliance formed  
> Lance has a thing for part-Galras

Lance tries to remember how he ended up with his head in Lotor’s lap, eyes closed as the prince’s fingers stroke through his hair. The last thing he remembers is following Lotor to an elegantly decorated room in the Galra ship, to discuss whatever evil plans the Galra had in store for him, when he suddenly became light-headed. He recalls stumbling and falling forward into strong arms. And then he is here, in this room that is strangely elegant for a Galra dwelling, and his head propped on Lotor’s thighs.

Right now, he’s at the mercy of the commander of the Galra. The commander’s hands are _in his hair_. Why isn’t he as bothered by this as he should be?

Lotor’s lap is warm under Lance’s skull, and the prince’s gentle touch combing through his hair is so soft, it sends shocks into his skin. Literal shocks like static charge. He can’t decide if they hurt or tickle.

“I guess Mother didn’t do as good a job of healing you as I specified,” Lotor mused. “She’s not much of a healer, but still. Taking a spell like that full force as you did isn’t good for an organic being. It wasn’t very smart, either. At least you’re pretty.”

Lance groans and half-opens his eyes. He’s drained of energy, but the small shocks are slowly relieving the pain in his muscles.

“Oh, you’re awake,” says Lotor. The prince’s face swims into focus: the canary-yellow eyes, the sharp features, the red tattoos. A smirk curves his mouth. “Just when I think you can’t get any cuter, I see those blue eyes, and I stand corrected.”

“What’re you doing?” Lance mumbles.

“Healing you,” Lotor says.

Though Lance keeps his eyes trained on the prince, he doesn’t make a move to stop the caresses, partly because he’s too weak to do much about it, partly because he doesn’t want it to stop. It’s… soothing, to be touched in such a tender, caring manner, and it’s literally healing him. Is it so much to object to this? He wonders what Allura would say if she could see him now.

Wait-- Allura. Shiro. Keith. Voltron. Lance is a prisoner.

“No, no, no, bad human,” says Lotor when Lance tries to sit up. His hands leave Lance’s hair and push the paladin’s shoulders back on the couch, then hold Lance’s head against his legs.

“Let me go,” says Lance. He’s waking out of his dreamy trance and realizing he was actually becoming comfortable, trusting, compliant. _I can’t let him trick me!_

Lotor’s hold stays too strong for Lance to fight. “Stop trying to move around, you silly paladin. You’re just going to pass out again.”

“This isn’t right,” Lance breathes. His movement does make his vision blur, but he knows he can’t let himself lower his guard. Not like he did with Nyma.

“Paladin, you’re not healed yet,” Lotor says. “Please trust me?”

“No, nope, nuh uh.”

Lotor frowns. His hands move from Lance’s forehead to cup his face, and he brings his face so close to Lance’s that the paladin holds his breath.

“You said so yourself, Lance,” Lotor whispers. The prince of the Galra says his name so sensually that it sends an involuntary thrill down Lance’s spine and makes him pay attention. How can someone so evil be so beautiful? “I’m not like other Galra. All I want to do is heal you. I promise. You can trust me.”

Is it because of the seriousness that rings through Lotor’s tone that Lance hears himself agree? Lotor smiles then, pleased to get his way, and it makes Lance’s heart skip a beat. As he leans back and continues to heal Lance with gentle strokes of his hands through Lance’s hair, the paladin wonders why he always falls for the charming aliens.

After a few moments, when Lance feels stronger, he says, “So you were going to tell me about your evil scheme or whatever?”

Even though Lance tried not to show much interest when he said that, Lotor looks a little too smug as he responds. “Right, well, I wouldn’t call it ‘evil’ or a ‘scheme whatever,’ but it’s pretty complicated.”

Lance scoffs. “Try me.”

“I want to dismantle the Galra empire from the inside,” says Lotor, so simply it makes Lance’s head spin. “With Voltron’s help, of course.”

“Dis--Dismantle your empire?” Lance sputters. “Now I know you’re trying to trick me.”

Lotor’s eyes narrow, and he lifts his gaze from Lance’s face to glare at an unseen enemy. With surprising bitterness, he says, “What’s so hard to believe? I didn’t ask for this. My father, greedy monster, marches thousands of my people to their death century after century in a vain attempt to take Voltron. Our empire is so large that we can’t conquer planets fast enough to sustain it. Due to him and his mindless followers, ‘Galra’ is a synonym for ‘evil.’ Families are broken apart, lives are ruined, friends are stabbed in the back by friends. This is what I’ve inherited, paladin. Endless war and bloodshed. And for what? That quiznaking space weapon?”

“You…” Lance struggles for words. “You don’t even want Voltron.”

“Of course not. What would we even use it for? Conquering even more planets? Even more war?”

What a simple question. Why had he never even considered it? “I never thought of that,” Lance admits. He knows he tends to be the slow one among his friends, but he’s never heard Allura or anyone else tell him exactly why Zarkon, an already successful emperor with devastating weaponry, wanted Voltron, except as another weapon. Not just to defeat Voltron--he could understand that; Voltron is the only thing that stands against his empire--but to have Voltron all for himself. The whole thing suddenly seems pointless to Lance.

Lotor laughs without humor. “Do you know what it’s like to be a constant space traveller? To not even have a planet to call home?”

There it is, that feeling Lance never thought he could have for a Galra outside of the Blade of Malmora. Sympathy. “Yes,” he says.

Lotor closes his eyes for a moment before looking down at Lance again. “Of course you do. The difference between you and me is that you have a home to go back to when all of this is over. My planet was destroyed by my father’s lust for power before I was born.”

Despite the heaviness in Lotor’s voice, his hands continue to move in slow, calming circles through Lance’s hair. He can’t remember anyone being this gentle to him in a long time. If he lets himself, he can slip into the mindless calm of before, but he just reminds himself that he is not safe here, that Lotor is not safe, and to be alert.

The quiet lasts between them as Lance turns Lotor’s words over in his mind. Can he believe that Lotor is really as ambivalent toward the empire’s expansion as he says? To Lance, it makes a lot of sense, but it sounds too good to be true. Nothing Allura has told him matches up. Then again, Allura never told any of them about this half-Altean heir to the Galra empire, either. He wonders how much he doesn’t know. Or how much Allura doesn’t trust him to know. How much she doesn’t know herself. Allura has always seemed the wise, all-knowing leader to him, so it’s hard for him to comprehend that she might have been misinformed for once.

At last, he says, “Why are you telling me this?”

Lotor nods. “A fair question. It’s simple, really. I’m in a good position to sabotage this monstrosity, but I can’t take down an entire empire by myself. I need help. And I think you’re someone I can trust.”

Lance starts to laugh, but at Lotor’s puzzled frown, he stops. “Me? Why? I’m like, the least helpful person you could have chosen.”

“Who told you that? Your team?” says Lotor, frowning deeper. “Not only are you an expert pilot, a skilled marksman, and a brave fighter, you’re also trusted by most of the universe as a Paladin of Voltron. You’re incredibly valuable.”

No one had told Lance that he isn’t valuable per se. Except for Keith, of course, who always had a criticism to share, whether Lance wanted to hear it or not. But to stand among people like Allura, Shiro, Keith, Pidge, Coran, and Hunk was to realize that he was easily the weakest part, the hole in the armor. The fifth wheel of Voltron.

Listening to Lotor praise him like this made the situation only more surreal. Someone in the universe thinks he is not only useful, but talented in his own right. No doubt his thoughts are written all over his face, because Lotor’s brow creases with sympathy.

“I would have thought Voltron treated its paladins better,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, Lance.”

Lance waves his hand. “It’s not-- just-- tell me more about your plans. I still don’t get where I fit in here.”

“Certainly. You see, you are the paladin of the legendary Blue Lion.”

“And water is wet. What else?”

Lotor’s confused frown returns. “Yes… And as such, my advisors believe you could be useful in bringing down Voltron. They suggested I torture information out of you, but I said I could talk you into ‘joining’ us.” He takes his hands away from Lance’s hair for a moment to make air quotes. “In reality, you’ll just be helping me feed them false information that will divide the empire and free the universe.”

Lance waits patiently for more, but Lotor just watches him expectantly. “That’s it?” Lance says.

“So far, yes,” says Lotor.

Lance groans. “Quiznak, Lotor, that’s not a very detailed plan.”

“I’m making this up as I go,” Lotor says as his shoulders lift defensively. “It’s hard to predict all the twists and turns that keep getting thrown at me. Like I didn’t plan having you on my side, but here we are. And have you ever secretly overthrown an empire? This is complicated stuff.”

 _Just my luck_ , Lance thinks. “Well, I think our first step should be contacting Allura, then--”

“No,” interrupts Lotor.

Lance says, “What? Why not?”

“It--Just…” Lotor sighs and leans back in the couch. “They…” His eyes spark. “The princess Allura doesn’t trust me. There’s no way we can contact them without risk, anyway, and she’ll sooner expose us all than work with us.”

 _Oh_ , thinks Lance as his hopes sink. Of course Allura wouldn’t trust Lotor. When she first found out Keith was Galra, she could barely look at him. What would she say to the son of her father’s murderer, the prince of an empire that destroyed her planet and caused millennia of suffering? And Lance has no idea how to contact the castleship to coordinate an attack that doesn’t have at least some risk. Even when the Blade of Malmora was buried deep in the empire, Thane was still found out.

Lotor continues, “Besides, they will be helping us, just without them knowing.”

“How?”

“We’ll keep stacking the cards in Voltron’s favor, of course. Except technically without Voltron, since the Blue Lion is out of commission.”

“Blue.” Lotor may as well have punched Lance in the stomach. He feels guilty for forgetting his Lion. If she’s still… is alive the right word? Lance thinks so… If she’s still alive, no way can she fly, much less form Voltron. She must be scared and hurting all alone. “I want to see Blue,” says Lance. “Once you’re done healing me, I need to see her.”

“Okay, two things. One, you’re already healed.”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah, I finished healing you a few minutes ago,” Lotor says sweetly. “I guess you were so comfortable that you didn’t notice.”

Lance jolts up and out of Lotor’s lap. He stumbles on the carpet but catches his balance and puts a modest three feet between them. A blush burns his cheeks and Lotor laughs, but he folds his arms. “What’s the second thing?”

“Right, the second thing. We can visit the Blue Lion after I prove to the council you’re an ally,” Lotor says. “Before then, there’s no way I can get you even in the same room with the Blue Lion.”

Lance sighs. Of course it won’t be that simple. “Fine. What do I have to do?”

Lotor answers, “Let’s start by getting you out of that paladin armor.” At Lance’s glare, he adds, “Come on, it’s basically a neon banner saying, ‘Look at me, I’m team Voltron!’”

Next to his blue bath robe and his Garrison jacket, the paladin armor is the best thing Lance has ever worn. It fits him perfectly, it keeps him warm and safe in the vacuum of space, and it even has hidden pockets for snacks. However, he can see Lotor’s point. He takes a deep breath. “What will I wear instead?”

“Oh, I have just the thing.” Lotor’s eyes sparkle. Lance is starting to hate that look on the alien prince’s face.

\--

Twenty doboshes later, Lance is twisting his body left and right, his eyes on the mirror to see how the Galra suit fits him. Though he objected to the tall heels and the cape--Lotor had been offended when he’d called them “ridiculous”--he has to admit, the black body suit trimmed with violet, the black sound-proof boots, and the (guess what) _black_ utility belt slung around his waist (“Empty, for now,” Lotor had said) make him look kind of cool. It can’t compare to his paladin armor, but he supposes it’s not that bad, either.

“Are you done yet?” Lotor’s voice drifts through the closed bedroom door. He had thankfully respected Lance’s wish to privacy and given the human his room to change.

And what a room--Lotor’s entire living section is larger than Lance’s house, and the bedroom is way bigger than the one he shared with Hunk back at the Garrison. A fluffy bed filled with pillows, a plush carpet like the living area, extravagant art decorating the walls, a window with a view of the stars and galaxies beyond… And everything was varying shades of blue.

“Hello?” Lotor says impatiently.

Lance scoops up his discarded paladin armor. “Come in.” He tears his eyes away from the jealousy-inducing room to the opening door.

Lotor stands in the doorway and looks Lance up and down. For some reason, heat flushes Lance’s face at the thorough way Lotor’s eyes rake over him.

Lance swallows and reminds himself that he is not not NOT attracted to the Galran prince. At all whatsoever. “So? How do I look?”

Lance already knows: compared to Lotor, he looks like another faceless soldier. Though they have the same color scheme--black and violet; Lance is starting to wonder if Galra are allergic to literally every other color--Lotor’s clothes are a mix of ‘prince’ and ‘evil’ and ‘diva.’ From his heels putting him an extra half-head taller than Lance, to the cape that swirls dramatically when he turns, the sharp shoulders and body suit clearly built with more fashion in mind than battle, the only thing that’s missing is a crown.

Of course, Lotor doesn’t miss an opportunity to flirt. He leans against the doorway and says with a smile, “You know, I used to hate that uniform when they first issued it, but now I’m reconsidering. You were made for that suit.”

“Thanks,” Lance says quietly and forces his gaze away. He wonders how much time has passed since he was part of Voltron. What would they say if they saw him now, dressed in Galra attire and prepared to ally with the head of the empire?

Thinking of Voltron reminds him of Blue and chases away his embarrassment. He meets Lotor’s eyes fearlessly. “What’s next?”

“Now,” Lotor says, “we introduce you to Mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing with The Fifth Wheel. As always, I read every comment, and every "kudos" tells me I'm on the right track, so thank you for those who have supported this work! I have so many great ideas I'm excited to share with you!
> 
> Quick note: if you don't remember, doboshes from the show are an Altean time measurement similar to minutes, if I remember correctly.
> 
> Thank you so, so, SO much! :) If you can, let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments!


	4. Joining the Galra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's POV  
> Meeting with Haggar  
> Checking on the Blue Lion  
> Lotor makes excuses to touch Lance several times

Allura had mentioned Haggar a few times in team briefings. Lance distantly remembers hearing about Zarkon’s right hand, a witch who used her powers to develop some of the worst enemies Voltron has ever faced. He specifically recalls Allura’s shock and disgust when she learned Haggar was Altean. Standing before the witch now, he thinks she is even worse than Zarkon for her betrayal, but he keeps his face carefully neutral as she approaches.

Lotor stands beside him and rests a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Mother, this is the Blue Paladin. You were supposed to heal him, don’t you remember?”

“How dare you bring a paladin of Voltron to your father’s command room?” Haggar’s voice hisses and makes Lance’s hair stand up.

She stops before Lotor, ignoring Lance for the moment, and he’s grateful for that. Though she’s shorter than Lotor, about Lance’s height, power seems to radiate off her. Lance can just feel the kind of power Haggar is capable of, the cruelty wrought by her hands, and he wishes he at least had his bayard with him. This is what evil looks like: a woman with long white hair and a cold voice, hidden under a sinister cloak.

Scared to catch her eye, Lance instead looks at the room and discovers that the floor panels they stand on seem to float in the space of the room. The long walkway ends at a throne that would be too large for Hunk… but it would have been perfect for Zarkon. And, as usual, the entire space is bathed in violet light. A room befit of a Galra dictator.

Lotor’s voice conveys total calm and confidence as he explains, “I believe this paladin can be useful to us. He has inside information, and he’s someone the other paladins trust. I intend to make him a critical tool in capturing Voltron.”

“You overestimate his usefulness, Prince Lotor,” Haggar says. Lance makes the mistake of looking at her and meets her face inches from his. He catches his breath as her yellow eyes bore into his soul. “He’s weak, and he can’t be trusted.”

“H-Hey,” Lance stutters. He tries to sound indignant, but he’s too afraid of the witch.

Lotor’s hand on Lance’s shoulder gently pulls him back from Haggar. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mother. We’ve struck a deal. We leave his planet be, he helps us capture Voltron.”

“This one? I think not,” Haggar scoffs.

A part of Lance takes offense to this. Before he can stop himself, he says, “You’re really going to turn away free inside information to Voltron? Bad idea, lady.”

In his peripheral vision, Lance sees Lotor is staring at him, but Lance is too terrified to look away from Haggar as she takes a step toward him and starts, “How dare--”

“Mother.” This one word from Lotor contains a threat, and Haggar stops with her hand inches from grabbing Lance’s throat.

 _Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo_... Lance recites the Lord’s Prayer in his head as Haggar slowly retracts her hand. He doesn’t breathe until she’s a step back and he has thought _Amén._

Haggar narrows her eyes at Lance, sending a shiver down his spine, before turning her glare on the prince. “Your father would never stoop so low to bargain with a paladin of Voltron.”

“My father failed,” Lotor snaps. Lance tenses and watches Haggar’s face, expecting some sort of retaliation, but the Altean-- she’s taken a step back, as though afraid of her own son. “He was blinded by his lust for power, and it destroyed him. I’m not the fool he was. I will succeed where he failed, and I will do it with my methods. Not his.”

Silence as Haggar regains her composure. Lance sneaks a look at Lotor from the corner of his eye. The Galra prince’s features are sharp in profile, and he radiates authority. Lance wonders if Zarkon had a similar effect on his subordinates.

Finally, Haggar says, “What do you wish of me, Sire?”

Cold, Lance thinks as Lotor answers, “The paladin will require private quarters and access to all Area C sections and below. You will instruct your followers to allow him this access. Whatever he wants to know, they will divulge, and he will be addressed as Lieutenant.”

Haggar visibly tenses and scowls. Lance can tell she has plenty to object to, but instead she settles for, “Yes, Sire.”

“Additionally,” continues Lotor, “I will take full responsibility for his role in our order, which includes his care and his training.”

 _Care? Training?_ Lotor failed to mention these details to Lance. He’s burning with questions, but maybe not as much as Haggar, who stares at Lotor and issues another curt, “Yes, Sire.”

“I’m glad you understand, Mother. _Vrepit Sa_.” Lotor turns and beckons Lance to follow as he leaves.

Lotor’s heels on the metal floor panels echo through the throne room with an air of formality, but Lance has a sneaking suspicion that it won’t be as easy as this. Though Lotor doesn’t glance back, Lance does, and he regrets it, because Haggar is glowering right at him. If looks could kill…

He quickly faces forward, but he can feel Haggar’s eyes burning a hole in his back. He sincerely hopes he’s never left alone with Haggar.

Guards at the doors salute them and intone “ _Vrepit Sa_.” If they have thoughts about the exchange, their faces don’t show it, and Lotor doesn’t acknowledge them.

A few minutes later, Lance says, “Did you see her _face_ \--”

“Not here,” Lotor cuts off. Chastened, Lance is quiet as he follows Lotor through the labyrinthine hallways that twist and turn, passing rooms Lance can only glance into before they’re gone. Once they reach a dimly lit corridor with no sign of other Galra, Lotor stops and turns.

He’s grinning as he grabs Lance’s shoulders and says, “Lance, you were brilliant.”

“I-I was?” Lance says, and a smile finds its way onto his face.

“Yes, I couldn’t have instructed you better,” Lotor gushes. “‘Bad idea, lady’? That was amazing, I almost lost it.”

Lance chuckles. “Yeah, me, too.”

“You looked scared out of your mind, actually,” Lotor says.

“I was not _scared_ \--” Lance cries.

Lotor laughs brightly, and Lance joins him, giddy as he thinks about it. He told off Zarkon’s most trusted advisor! What would Hunk say if he knew?

Before Lance can start to miss his best friend, Lotor throws an arm around Lance’s shoulders and strolls with him leisurely down the hall. “Ah, I like you, Lance.”

“I have that effect on people,” Lance says casually, fighting a smirk.

“I bet so,” Lotor says. They’re close, side by side, and Lance doesn’t even mind it. He feels strangely comfortable with Lotor, even though he knows next to nothing about him and has all the reason in the world not to trust him. There’s something about Lotor that tells Lance’s gut he can trust him. More than anyone else on this ship, anyway, and he’s probably the only thing standing between Lance and a torture chamber.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Lotor is attractive, too.

As they walk, Lance thinks over the confrontation and wonders what Lotor’s life must have been like growing up. Lance’s mother is the most important person in the whole universe to him, and he can’t imagine not having her in his life. Nothing is more important to the McClains than family, but he thinks that relationship for Lotor is more complicated and political. Pity, again, for the son of a dictator and a witch.

Lance is just saying, “So, your mother...” when the corridor expands and ends in that very same hangar where this all began, lit only by the Blue Lion’s particle shield.

“A deal is a deal,” Lotor says, looking down at him with a smile. “Here she is.”

Lance is overcome with relief to see Blue hasn’t been disturbed by the Galra, as far as he can tell. He steps out from under Lotor’s arm toward the Lion, but then glances back at Lotor. “I thought you said you had to prove to the council--”

“Mother is the council,” Lotor says, waving his hand. “She’ll bring her generals in line with us, trust me. You’ve earned this.”

What kind of world did he wake up in where he can just walk straight up to his Lion in a Galra ship like he owns the place? Lance doesn’t think the shock will wear off any time soon. Facing Blue again, he crosses the room to her without another hesitation.

“Hey, girl,” Lance murmurs as he holds out a hand. His fingers press against the barrier of the particle shield. The light ripples around his hand, acknowledging his presence… but the barrier stays up. “Blue?” he tries again, patting the barrier. It buzzes under his fingertips. “Blue, it’s me. It’s Lance. Can’t you hear me?”

The Blue Lion doesn’t look like she’s in the best shape. She’s sprawled and crumpled, and her jaw is still wide open from where Lance hit the emergency release. If not for the particle barrier, Lance would have assumed she was completely destroyed by the witch’s curse.

“Blue…” Lance whispers as his heart sinks.

Lotor’s voice behind him is gentle as he says, “The Blue Lion is probably still regenerating. It’ll want to protect itself until it’s at least recovered enough to function.”

“Oh,” Lance mutters. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“She just needs time,” Lotor says. He rubs Lance’s shoulder soothingly. “In the meantime, I can show you to your quarters. No doubt you’d like some rest.”

Lance glances back at Lotor, then at Blue. How many times had he just walked right up to her and jumped into the cockpit without question? Now she doesn’t even seem to realize he’s there. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Lance nods.

Before they leave, Lotor’s hand on the small of Lance’s back, Lance calls over his shoulder, “I’ll be back for you, Blue. Take it easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks x100 for the comments and the kudos! They fuel me to write and to explore more ideas. We're getting into the meat of the story now, so your thoughts on how it's looking so far are much appreciated!
> 
> This chapter is a bit short, but that's because the next one is going to be the longest yet. I decided to combine two different POVs rather than have one colossal chapter, so we'll see if I can manage it. :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and I hope you have a great week!


	5. A Universe Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith POV, Lance POV  
> Keith is angsty and emo but Team Voltron loves him  
> Lance tries to train Galra-style  
> Keith may or may not understand privacy as well as he should

Shiro and Allura could hold their strategy meetings and try to work all possible angles of a 100% perfect solution if that’s what they wanted. At least Keith is being productive.

After slicing through the last training dummy, Keith is out of breath, but he doesn’t rest. “Room, increase level.”

“Level 30 loading…” the computer voice says. “Level 30 ready. Begin?”

“Yes.”

Keith straightens, switches his sword bayard to his left hand this time, and waits as the room collects the destroyed training robot and shifts the scene of the fight. Now, instead of balancing on a racing asteroid while fighting, the room creates a different illusion: a mossy, slippery creek bed with a stream dividing the room in the middle. Though the water isn’t real, Keith knows he’ll be swept away and lose the level if he falls in. He sinks into a defensive stance.

Before the room can dispatch the training bots, however, a door opens seemingly out of nowhere in this scene and Hunk appears. “Cancel level,” he says.

“Canceling level,” the voice says.

Keith jumps up. “Hey!”

As the holograms fade back into the clinical white of the castleship’s training room, Hunk enters and leans against the wall. He folds his arms across his chest. “So this is what you’ve been working on while the rest of us are trying to rescue Lance?”

“Wasting your time talking about nothing, you mean,” Keith replies bitingly. He keeps his sword ready at his side. Though he wouldn’t dream of hurting one of his teammates, it makes his intention to keep training clear.

“We’re trying to find a way to help him, Keith,” Hunk says, his voice even but his expression tight, like he’s trying to seem reasonable. It could also be sleep deprivation and stress; Keith isn’t the only one feeling strained. As they reach the second consecutive day of the failed mission, they’re all having a hard time dealing with it. The few times Keith has left the training room, he’s seen the worry on his teammates’ faces, so much like his own reflection. As of now, Hunk may be running on a few vargas of sleep, judging from the bags crouched under his dark eyes and the five o’clock shadow taking over his face.

He rubs his eyes as though to confirm the theory before continuing. “You’re a paladin of Voltron, too. We could use your help.”

Keith scoffs. “I already told you the solution, but none of you listened to me. Why waste my time?”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “A solution that isn’t suicidal.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” says Keith. He strides toward Hunk, but the yellow paladin doesn’t flinch at his approach, just watches him with cool certainty. It only ignites Keith’s temper further. “I’m the fastest and the best flyer, not to mention I can interface with the Galra technology. If anyone has a chance of breaking into the Galra’s defenses and freeing the Blue Lion, it’s me.”

Hunk looks down at him. Keith is just a few feet away now, but Hunk’s demeanor doesn’t change. He looks into Keith’s eyes like he can see into the red paladin’s soul. Unnerved, Keith decides to focus his gaze on the taller teen’s headband instead.

“Now you’re the one that’s not listening,” says Hunk calmly. “Allura and Shiro already said it, and I agree. It’s too dangerous to send you by yourself right into the Galra’s playground. We have to be patient. I know it’s been a few days and you’re scared for Lance--”

“I’m not,” Keith interjects, forcing Hunk to stare at him. “I’m not scared for Lance. I’m scared for Voltron. Why does everyone keep forgetting that? They have one of our lions. We can’t form Voltron, so we can’t fight them.”

Something in Hunk’s expression changes, something hard to decipher, that makes him no longer look calm. He stands straight, his shoulders squaring. “You don’t mean that.”

Keith casually tightens his grip on his bayard. “Of course I do. What happened to Lance is horrible, but our priority should be Voltron.” Hunk doesn’t respond to this, so Keith keeps talking. “If it comes down to choosing between Lance and the Blue Lion, then we have to--”

“Don’t,” Hunk says, just above a whisper, but his tone is harsh. “Don’t you dare pretend like Lance means nothing to you.”

Keith starts, “I didn’t--”

“And stop being so selfish,” Hunk snaps. “You’re not the only one who misses him.”

“Selfish?” Keith laughs bitterly and gestures with his sword toward the dining hall, where the rest of the team has been collaborating for the past few days. “I know you all like to think I’m the bad guy here, Hunk, but it’s time to face reality. We can’t afford to let the Galra win, or else so many innocent people across the universe will suffer, not just Lance. I’m the only one who’s been thinking about Voltron! And you say I’m selfish?”

Hunk takes two steps toward Keith and honest to god shouts at him. Keith had never heard Hunk raise his voice in anger, but now he’s getting the brunt of it. Tears shimmer in Hunk’s eyes as he yells, “How can you stand there and say that! Yeah, Voltron protects the universe, but Lance gave everything he had for Voltron! His family, his home!”

“Hunk, we all did!” Keith shouts back. Someone else is standing in the doorway, but he doesn’t care; he’s shaken deeply by Hunk’s outburst. “I’m just being realistic!”

“No, you’re being self-centered, as usual!”

“You guys, stop!” It’s Pidge’s voice from the hall, but she might as well have been a thousand light years away for all the effect her words had on the two paladins.

Hunk continues as his cheeks becomes wet with his tears. “He’s the reason Voltron began at all. Lance is a part of our team, and he’s my best friend. We can’t give up on him.”

“Lance isn’t here!”

“Stop talking about him like he’s dead!”

Keith’s vision tinges red. Why won’t anyone just listen to him? And why does Hunk think he’s being _selfish_ of all things, when he gave up just as much, if not more, than Lance? When a barbed wire constricts his lungs every time he thinks about not seeing Lance’s blue eyes again, or hearing his awful jokes and even worse flirting?

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Lance’s face and knows the universe would be dimmer without him in it. Of course Keith cares about Lance. But Keith is a paladin of Voltron, and he knows what’s important. Why can’t Hunk appreciate that?

Fire burns in Keith’s veins. As usual for him, impulse guides him, and he shoves Hunk toward the door with his free hand before he thinks his actions through.

“Get out of here,” Keith says. “You’re interfering with my training.”

Hunk stares at him coldly. Keith doesn’t look away this time, not wanting to seem weak, but the result is that Hunk’s watery eyes bore into his soul. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to interfere with that,” he grumbles and marches out of the room.

Pidge looks between Hunk and Keith, deciding, then lets the door close as she runs after Hunk.

With the door closed, Keith takes a deep breath and resumes his defensive stance. “Room, Level 30.”

\--

“Are you sure about this?” Lance had said to Lotor the day after he’d been named Lieutenant and officially inducted into the Galra ranks.

Lotor had paused in helping Lance into his training gear to hold up a finger. “One of the requirements for all Galra soldiers is to keep their skills sharp. That includes you now, so you don’t have a choice. Plus, the others are dying to scope you out. Plus plus, it’s fun.”

“But you don’t have to do this because…”

“I’m the prince,” Lotor had scoffed. “I have way more important things to do than group training, and my skills are always superb.”

“Ah, of course, how silly of me.” Lance had frowned at the (naturally) all-black gear strapped to his chest and legs. It looked like diamonds were studded in every facet of the armor, making his body catch the light strangely when he moved. And the gun like a blaster but without any ammo sat heavy and unusual in his hands. Galra tech, confusing as ever. “I don’t even know how to work this,” he’d said lamely.

“It’s easy, just point and pull the trigger. And you’re so smart, I’m sure you’ll pick it up fast.”

“I don’t know…”

That’s when Lotor had looped his arms around Lance’s waist, ostensibly to fasten the gun holster and complete the uniform, but his hands smoothed against Lance’s hips suggestively and he brought his face close to the human’s. “Tell you what,” he’d murmured, sending shockwaves across Lance’s nerves. “If you do well, it makes me look good, too, for recruiting you. So I’ll have to reward you down the road. Sound good?”

As Lance stands among the jostling and guffawing Galra later, he curses in his head, _Stupid handsome Galra prince. I’m only doing this because it’ll save the universe, not because of your dumb smile or your muscles...._

All the Galra he’s training with are dressed in similar gear, but Lance knows he sticks out like a sore thumb. Yellow eyes keep glancing his way, some looking away when he tries to return the gaze, some staring back unabashedly. All curious, all sizing him up. He swallows hard.

“Attention!” a particularly stocky Galra calls over the crowd, silencing the chatter and gaining the attention of the twenty or so Galra gathered in front of the training room doors. Lance’s heart leaps into his throat. Were they starting already? “Just your everyday shooting practice, no teams, full dark.”

Beyond that, no one bothers to explain the rules or the objective. The doors open, they enter in complete darkness, and in just a few doboshes, the room is filled with firing lasers and the sounds of battle. 

The diamond-like spots on Lance’s uniform light up like a Christmas tree as they absorb the harmless lasers. No matter where he goes in the dark, he’s being shot. If he’s not running into a wall or tripping down stairs, or banging his knees on some fixture of the room, he’s being shot. Everything is confusing and nightmarish and seems to go on for years before it ends. 

Finally, like the light of heaven, the doors they’d entered from swing open. Lance is overjoyed as he leaps out of his hiding place and races through the doors. He’s the first one out, and he throws himself against the far wall as he tries to catch his breath. He’s sweating, aching, and bruising all over.

“We’ll meet up here after lunch and do a couple more sessions,” says the stocky Galra as he leads the soldiers toward what Lance thinks must be the cafeteria. Some of them stop to snicker or scowl at him, but most ignore him.

The soldiers leave him behind, pathetic and panting. Lance thinks, _It’ll be fun, he said. It’ll be easy, he said. I’ll kill him when I see him again._

As it happens, Lotor is waiting for him at the cafeteria. He accepts the salutes and _Vrepit Sa_ ’s of the crew members with a nod as they pass him into the wide dining space. When Lance limps up to him, Lotor reaches out a hand to steady him. “Hey, are you okay?”

“You purple bastard,” Lance rasps.

“I am not a bastard. My father is Zarkon, you know this.” Lotor leads him into the cafeteria and sits him down, ignoring the reverent looks from the crew members that their prince was joining them in the lowly mess hall. “I take it training didn’t go as well as I’d hoped?”

“You didn’t say it would be in the dark.”

Lotor blinks. “In the…? Don’t you have night vision?”

Lance can’t believe his ears. “No!” he cries.

“Oh… Oh!” Lotor throws his head back and laughs.

“Whatever.” Face burning with embarrassment, Lance starts to stand up, but Lotor grabs his arm.

“I’m s-sorry, Lance,” Lotor chokes out around his giggling. “It’s just, the th-thought of you s-stumbling around, y-you must’ve been so c-confused, haha!”

“Yeah, hilarious,” Lance grumbles.

Lotor takes both of Lance’s hands in his and schools his features into almost a state of nonchalance, if not for the corners of his mouth still quirking. “I’ll nab you a pair of night vision specs before the next round.”

“Uh uh, I’m not going back there,” Lance says, taking his hands back. “Me looking like an idiot wasn’t part of the deal, Lotor.”

Lotor says, “On the contrary, it is. You want to be part of the Galra? You have to train like Galra.”

“I’m not Galra!” Lance’s outburst causes the chatter in the dining hall to die out, and those who weren’t staring before, are now. Lotor stiffens. In a quieter voice, Lance says, “I’m sorry, I just-- don’t want to be bullied into things I never agreed to, okay?”

Lotor stands and smoothes his hand over the back of Lance’s. “Of course not,” he says. “Sometimes I forget how different other species are from Galra. You’re not Galra, I get it, but this is still something you have to do. It’s out of my hands.”

Just as Lance’s heart is starting to sink, Lotor adds, “Unless, of course, I take on your training myself.”

“But I thought you were busy,” Lance says.

Lotor sighs. “I am, but this is far more important. You’re my responsibility, after all, so I have to make sure you’re fitting in.” He leans in to whisper, “All of our plans rely upon it.”

Lance looks into Lotor’s eyes, the yellow orbs asking him to trust the prince. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“Good, thank you,” Lotor says, leaning back. He smirks. “It shouldn’t be hard to convince everyone you need a private training session. You probably did very badly.”

“Hey,” Lance warns, but Lotor just smiles it off and gets Lance a dish from the cafeteria line, what he explains is a ‘dolonart,’ something like a meat pie. Whatever it is, it’s savory and delicious. As much as he knows Allura and Coran hate the Galra, they have better cooking, Lance is sorry to say.

Lotor stays long enough to let Lance finish up his meal and escort him back to his quarters. “It’s probably a good idea not to show your face around the crew until you’re competent with at least a toy phaser,” he’d explained. “Galra don’t appreciate incompetence very much.”

Lance glares at him before being shut up in his rooms. He sighs, yanks off his armor, and crosses the room to sit on his bed. It’s not as fancy as Lotor’s room, of course, but his private living space has a sturdy bed, a desk, and a dresser, which is better than a jail cell at least.

He leans his cheek into his hand and stares out the small window into the galaxy beyond. It’s completely unrecognizable to him. Does Voltron have any idea where he is? His family definitely does not.

As he lies back on his bed and pulls his pillow over his face, he mumbles, “I never asked for this.” 

\--

Keith dries his hair with a towel as he strides out to his bedroom. After the rigorous training, he’d desperately needed a shower. Thankfully, he’d had the sense to bring another towel and tie it around his waist, because the Princess Allura is perched on the sofa.

He stops rubbing the towel through his hair and lets it rest across his shoulders. “Where I come from, it’s polite to knock.”

Allura gives him a nod. “I’m sorry, Keith. I didn’t realize you were… occupied. I can come back later.”

“No, it’s fine,” Keith says, though he’s a bit embarrassed to be caught like this by Allura. Once upon a time, he had confided in her that he isn’t attracted to women, but it still creates a strange tension that the only thing keeping him decent is a towel. Wrapping his second towel more closely around his shoulders, he crosses the room to his closet and closes himself inside it.

“Uh… okay,” Allura says uncertainly, her voice muffled by the closed closet doors. “I just-- I wanted to talk to you about what… what Hunk said to you today. And how you replied to him. He told me.”

Keith pauses in choosing his outfit and listens carefully. He’s glad Allura can’t see the shame coloring his face.

“Keith?” says Allura.

“I’m listening,” Keith calls through the doors.

“Good,” she says. “I wanted to, um, hear your side of the story. When you’re ready, of course.”

His side of the story, huh? Keith wonders how Hunk must have presented the exchange, the evil, heartless red paladin and his destructive path through the training bots. Hunk isn’t the kind to be unfair, especially to his friends, but Keith suspects they’re all not acting like themselves at the minute. For one, Allura sounds uncertain, which is rare indeed.

Keith pulls his pants on and sweeps his wet hair out of his eyes. “There’s not much to tell, though. He tried to get me to join your strategy meetings, I refused. I’ve already given you my thoughts, so I didn’t see the point.”

“That’s not what I…. Oh, really, Keith, I’d rather talk to you face to face.”

“Sorry, Allura. Just give me a tick.”

A tick later, Allura visibly relaxes when Keith walks out, this time fully dressed. She pats the seat next to her, but he settles for one of the couches adjacent from her.

Allura smoothes her hands over her lap, the bodysuit sleek and unruffled. In all the chaos, she hadn’t changed into anything else, as though prepared to jump into battle at any moment. “Here’s the thing, Keith. I sent Hunk. Well, Shiro and I did. We’re... worried about you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” Keith says shortly. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not the point,” Allura counters. “We all know how much you miss Lance, Keith, and I don’t think you’re handling it well.”

Keith took a deep breath and counted to ten before responding to this. “I don’t understand why everyone keeps saying I must miss Lance. I mean, of course I miss him, but no more than any of you do.”

Allura tilts her head and studies him. Calculatingly, she says, “You and Lance have a special… connection. The Red and Blue paladins in the past were similar. Your personalities are naturally juxtaposed, but you nonetheless support each other. And you have a lot in common, as well.”

Keith’s brows furrow. “You’re kidding. Lance is… completely not like me,” he finishes, but Allura catches his hesitation.

Allura leans forward, her blue eyes bright with her perceptive intellect. “It’s okay to miss Lance. It’s okay to care about him. It doesn’t make you less of a paladin of Voltron to favor one paladin over the others. It’s not selfish to feel like that.”

A blush spreads across Keith’s face as he sits bolt upright. “What are you suggesting?”

Allura holds up her hands and says, “Nothing! I’m just saying--”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Keith interrupts. “You support the gay paladin. Love is love. Whatever, I get it. But that’s not how I feel about Lance, and I really don’t care that he’s gone. I mean, of course I care, but I still prioritize Voltron. That’s it, that’s all.”

Allura gives an exasperated sigh. “Why won’t you just admit that you’re scared for Lance?”

“Because I’m not!” Keith says. “I’m not scared for Lance, I’m scared for Voltron!”

A tense silence stretches between them. Keith wishes he’d never mentioned his sexual orientation to Allura, because of course she’d read every interaction he’d ever had with Lance, who is openly and loudly bisexual, as the start of a relationship. But Keith doesn’t feel that way about anyone, most of all Lance. Infuriating, childish, impossible Lance.

Allura stares at Keith, and he doesn’t blink under the pressure. She can read the truth on his face if she so pleases. Finally, she says, “Fine. You’re not head over heels for Lance, even though I never said that. Fine, Keith. But I’d still like to see you handling the stress better than you are now. Less secluding yourself in the training room and taking out your anger on training dummies, more showing up to the meetings and contributing. As a paladin of Voltron, we need you.”

Keith rubs his hand across his face. Quiznak, did he need sleep. “I already told you my solution. Send. Me.”

“Too dangerous,” Allura says.

“Then I have nothing else to offer,” says Keith.

Another silence. This time, Keith ignores the bluebell eyes staring hard at the side of his head. It ends with Allura standing.

“I’d expect more from a paladin,” she says coolly. “And a friend of Lance’s.”

Keith lifts his head, about to retaliate, but Allura sweeps out of his room. With the door closed and Keith left alone, he stays seated and thinks over his options.

He could try--and fail--to sleep, He could go to the meeting. He could train again. Or… he could indulge the childish impulse to look inside Lance’s room.

A couple moments later, he stands in front of Lance’s door and rests a hand on the panel. The door slides open, revealing an empty room. Something about looking into the lived-in bedroom makes Keith hesitate, like the full weight of Lance’s absence will hit him if he steps inside, but he shakes this thought and steps inside.

When he’s closed inside, he picks his way carefully around the room. He’d only been inside it on a couple occasions, and never alone. What a mess. The bed is rumpled; trash and discarded clothes decorate its surfaces. He examines the half-eaten bag of chips and the sock on the table, but he doesn’t touch them. It seems oddly improper to move Lance’s things without him there to supervise.

As Keith lifts one of the sleeves of Lance’s jacket slung over his bedpost, he briefly imagines Lance showing up in the doorway and shrilly berating him for going through his stuff. He chuckles at the thought of Lance ripping the jacket out of his hands and shoving him out the door. He could use Lance’s annoyed expression to cheer up right about now.

The chill of the room and what it symbolizes finally reaches Keith, but as he turns to go, a little white triangle poking out from under Lance’s pillow catches his eye. Turning back and tugging on the triangle rewards him with a wallet-sized photograph of a younger Lance smiling with a group of people.

Keith sits down on the edge of the bed and examines the photograph more closely. A sun sets over the ocean in the background. Lance--the tall, skinny, beaming kid on the left had to be Lance--has his arms around a short, chubby-looking woman and a younger boy with gapped teeth. A young girl grins beside a half-finished sandcastle at his feet. On the woman’s other side, she holds a baby to her hip. He checks the back of the photo for more information, but it’s in Spanish.

 _This must be the McClains_ , Keith thinks. The chilling feeling grows stronger as he continues to stare at the photograph.

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, though he isn’t sure to whom. As he goes to return the picture under the pillow, he realizes it smells like Lance, like the soap he uses and a special something Keith can’t identify.

Keith breathes it in and closes his eyes. Before he realizes it, he’s fallen asleep on Lance’s bed.

\--

It’s no secret that Keith doesn’t change his mind often, but his teammates don’t have to look so damn surprised when he joins them in the dining hall the next morning. Hunk won’t look at him, Shiro greets him with a nod, and Allura smiles approvingly.

“So,” says Keith. “What’s the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one came out a bit later than the others, I had a hard time balancing the chapter and, well... writing it in general. *shrug* School, work, and the flu does that.
> 
> Quick note 1: It's apparently the Blade of Marmora, not the Blade of Malmora. Why did no one tell me :( Tags have been updated accordingly.
> 
> And, as always, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to every single one of you who have left kudos, comments, or BOTH on this work!! I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far! And another hearty thanks and hug for continuing with this chapter!!!! I really, really appreciate it so much.


	6. Ignition Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance POV  
> Training montage  
> An unplanned venture  
> "Betraying" Voltron

It’s not every day an entire fleet of Galra is jealous of you because you get to train one-on-one with their ruler. Lance doesn’t necessarily mind being the object of envious looks and begrudging respect, but unfortunately, he can’t even enjoy his privilege. Lotor does not go easy on him, at all.

In fact, when Lance first got frustrated with Lotor’s idea of “training,” he’d said, “Why do you have to make this so hard?”

And Lotor had responded silkily, “It’s just my specialty, paladin,” before blasting Lance with the mock phaser.

Even with night vision goggles that highlight the training room in fluorescent green, even just one-on-one, and even with a head start, Lance can’t keep up with Lotor. The alien prince is a quiznaking machine. If Lance so much as blinks, he’ll lose sight of Lotor, only to hear a suggestive comment in his ear just before he’s shot. Lotor is everything Lance wishes he could be: fast, clever, and deadly accurate. Not to mention infuriatingly sure of himself.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Lance,” Lotor says soothingly after their first training session, as Lance’s cheeks burn with shame. “You’re actually doing really well for a new trainee.”

 _But I’m not a new trainee, I was a paladin of Voltron_ , Lance thinks as he lies awake that night. _Not a very good one, but I'm no beginner, either._

Well, “night” is an arbitrary term. Starry space lies outside his window, betraying no passage of time, so his sleep schedule is based on just whenever he’s tired.

After a few sleepy moments, he amends his thought: _I’m still a paladin of Voltron._

Though Lance has free reign to wander the Galra ship--or at least, the areas that can be wandered with a Level C clearance--he lacks access to most of the privileges of a Galra soldier because he fails to show “adequate skill” in training. He can’t even contribute to Lotor’s plans; in order to strategize with him, the council, and the generals, Lance needs to meet Galra requirements.

The other Galra aren’t exactly friendly, either. Most are jealous, as for the previously mentioned reason of being Lotor’s personal protege, and some clearly don’t trust him. They watch him with suspicious yellow eyes any time he walks by.

So the only part of the ship that holds any interest for him is the Blue Lion, but after sitting beside her forcefield and trying to talk to her for hours, Lance becomes so heart sick he can’t stand it. He misses Voltron and he misses Blue. He misses Shiro, Allura, Coran, Hunk, and Pidge. He misses Keith. He misses his family.

So instead of sulking around Blue, he paces his room and strategizes on how to take Lotor down.

Each training session begins the same: Lotor speaking to Lance, partially on tips to improve his skills, partially just flirting that perplexes and flusters the paladin. This, Lotor claims, is also an important part of his training.

Then they run into the maze. No more than ten doboshes later, without fail, Lance is shot, and the training is over.

Training at the Castle of Lions had been relatively lax. He trained when Shiro said it was a good idea, sometimes he trained with Keith when Keith claimed he needed a sparring partner, and sometimes he just trained to be better. To be good enough for Voltron.

Now, he has to be good enough for the Galra, which is almost as hard. But he’s determined. If he can whittle down Zarkon’s legacy from within, he’ll do more than just be good enough for Voltron. His piloting skills won’t matter. He’ll have accomplished what Voltron itself had failed to do.

And he’d wipe that smug look off Lotor’s face.

So between sleep and enduring training with Lotor, Lance works to get stronger, faster, better. He has a lot of time to devote to thinking up ways of improving himself because he has nothing else to do outside of private training lessons with Lotor, so he comes up with a near perfect routine. 

Between training simulations, when over half of the Galra are occupied on the third floor, Lance jogs the length of the second floor. Only a few Galra are around then, and he ignores the looks he gets as he pants and sweats his way across the entire ship. When the Galra are coming back to rest in their rooms, Lance retires to his quarters and hooks his feet under his bed to do sit-ups. He forces himself to do twenty before the ache in his abdomen makes him stop. He manages some push-ups. He tries to push his desk around the room, but it’s too heavy. When Lance’s breaths scrape painfully down his throat, he finally takes a shower and throws himself on his bed to groan at the pain all over his body. Every Spanish swear he knows tumbles off his lips between pained exhales.

It hurts, but it feels good, too. Lance can practically feel himself getting stronger.

The first couple of times are brutal, and he’s even worse when he trains with Lotor because he’s slow and exhausted, but he endures the prince’s taunting. The third time, he goes farther without getting out of breath. He increases the crunches and push-ups he can do each by five. He even manages to budge the desk. But is it enough? Lance isn’t sure.

“You’re looking particularly delectable today, human,” Lotor purrs. “Is it a new training suit you swindled from an unsuspecting officer, or am I just now noticing?”

Lance purses his lips and calls on all his memories of Pidge. No matter the situation, Pidge is always cool and collected. She lets everything roll off her. Lance doesn’t so much as glance at Lotor.

He expects Lotor to try harder, maybe get frustrated at his lack of response, but instead he chuckles. “You’re adorable when you’re ignoring me.”

That game, Lance managed to last just a little longer than his usual. “I’m impressed,” Lotor said, suddenly very close. Before Lance could react, a blast of energy was absorbed by his suit. 

Another loss. Another varga to waste in his quarters.

Another varga to train.

Lance makes more progress. He runs and doesn’t have a stitch when he gets back to his quarters. He has enough energy after thirty crunches and thirty push-ups to slowly push his desk across the room. And after that, he hooks his fingers on the top of his door frame and slowly, clenching his teeth and holding his breath, lifts himself off his feet. Just once, but it’s more than he’s ever been able to do.

He loses again to Lotor, and again and again, but he’s changing, he knows it. And soon, he sees it, in the way his freshly cleaned uniform is fitting him. It adjusts to his body, naturally, but the fabric lays differently around his arms and legs. There’s muscle he didn’t have before. He admires himself in the mirror and beams. Before he leaves to eat as much as he can in the cafeteria, he kisses his reflection, leaving a slight smear on the glass.

“What’s new, Tagu?” Lance chimes to the Galra heaping food onto his plate. Tagu glares at him, but Lance doesn’t mind. He devours his meal and gets to his conditioning immediately.

In truth, Lance still misses Earth. He misses the Castle of Lions, too, and his family and friends. However, he’s made a comfortable routine for himself. He exercises, he pieces together new ideas to try on Lotor, and he even starts to look forward to his training sessions with the Galra prince.

Each time Lance runs farther, pushes harder, achieves more, he knows his mama would be proud of him.

He’s getting tantalizingly close to catching Lotor, too. Still losing, but making it harder for Lotor all the same. He knows he’s closing that gap, too, because Lotor is fighting dirtier. Well, he’s mostly flirting dirtier. Lance thinks he needs two showers after his latest training session, but it won’t wash out the thoughts of Lotor that keep cropping up when he lets his mind wander.

“You’re just… not used to the attention,” Lance mutters to his reflection as he gets dressed the next morning. He knows better, but he’s not sure how else to cope with the way his heart flutters and his mouth goes dry when he meets Lotor each day.

So he runs the thoughts out of his head. Before he knows it, he’s circling the second floor twice with ease. To make the strength exercises more powerful, he adds heavy armor and still manages five repetitions of twenty for each of his routines. Pull-ups are a dream. Not only can he push his desk around his room, he can turn it over, move it with just his legs, and even shove it onto his bed.

Lance has a smug smile on his face when he meets Lotor later for training.

“Someone’s happy,” Lotor notes as he pulls his flowing hair back and ties it with a band.

Lance just smirks and turns to the doors.

“Okay then, Lieutenant Lance,” teases Lotor. His fingers skitter across the control pad as he sets it for their usual layout. “I hope you’re ready for today, because play time is over.”

“I’m ready,” Lance says.

Shortly after, they’re in the maze. Lance is confident he can win this time and gets to hiding behind a barricade. This game only lasts a few doboshes, however, when he hears Lotor scream.

Ice shoots through his veins. “Lotor?” Lance calls as he runs out of cover. Clutching his phaser tight, he waits for some sign, some movement, to react.

In a weak voice, barely audible, he hears, “Lance…” It’s coming from the platform above, the second story of the computer generated maze.

“I’m coming!” Lance races to the stairs and takes them two at a time, his mind jumping to different possibilities. Did Lotor somehow get injured in the maze? It wasn’t difficult to do; Lance had done so himself many times. Or, maybe, they weren’t alone in the simulation.

Lance turns a corner and stops at Lotor’s prone body on the floor. He casts a quick glance around but sees no one. He kneels beside the prince and sets his hand on Lotor’s shoulder. His yellow eyes are closed; could he be…? “Lotor?” Lance tries. “It’s me, Lance. Are you--?”

Lotor’s eyes snap open, and he turns his shoulder so his phaser is pointed straight at Lance’s chest. Before Lance can even register what’s happening, the phaser goes off, shooting him square in the chest.

The lights flicker on, and Lance yanks his night vision goggles off. Lotor props himself up on one elbow and taps his chin in exaggerated calmness. “You seem mad.”

“Oh gee, you think?” Lance snarks. He stands and marches across the platform down the stairs. Lotor’s footsteps aren’t far behind.

“Is it something I did?” Lotor asks innocently.

Lance stops to glower at him. “You know what you did. You really freaked me out. Worse, you cheated.”

At this, Lotor holds up his hands. “Dearest paladin, I did nothing of the sort. In combat, an opponent can say any number of things to confuse and distract you. Training your mind as well as your body is vital to your survival.”

Lance’s mouth opens for a rebuttal, but he has nothing. Stuttering and stupid, he just watches as Lotor smiles and pats Lance’s jaw back into place with an audible click. “One day, Lance, you’ll understand. For now, go get some rest. And maybe take a few deep breaths while you’re at it.”

Embarrassed and dumbfounded, Lance just stands there for a moment longer as Lotor leaves, then follows him out. He makes a beeline for his quarters, grabs the pillow off the bed, and screams into it.

When he’s all screamed out, he slumps onto his bed and stares out the window into the stars. His anger slowly dissipates as he has time to think over the events, and a cool resolve calms his nerves. Distraction. Lotor isn’t the only one who can play this game. What Lance needs is a good distraction to get ahead. But just confusing Lotor for a moment won’t be enough. He needs to shake Lotor to his core.

The next day, he does his usual exercise routine, but he puts much more thought into the distraction. When he reaches the training room, Lotor is already there.

“Ready for today’s session?” Lotor asks.

Lance says nothing, just holds eye contact with the prince.

Lotor is the first to look away as he does the Galra equivalent of rolling his eyes, an exaggerated movement of the eyelids, and types away at the panel on the wall. “You’re not still mad about yesterday, are you?”

“No,” Lance says smoothly. Lotor starts to reply, but Lance doesn’t give him the chance. When the doors open, he finishes, “Just mad in love.”

Lotor turns toward him. “What did you say?”

For just a fraction of a tick, Lance hesitates, but he’s not a scared little boy. He’s a paladin of Voltron, and he can trick just as good as any Galra. He cups Lotor’s face, pulls his head down slightly to Lance’s height, and kisses him.

It’s by no means a passionate exchange, and Lance didn’t intend it to be. It lasts just a few beats with Lotor’s lips soft and still under Lance’s, too shocking and sudden for the prince to reciprocate. When Lotor does catch up, his arms start to wrap around Lance’s waist, but Lance takes a couple steps back, out of reach.

“Come and get me, Galra,” Lance says. He turns and runs into the maze.

Though the room is slightly different every time it’s generated, it has the same basic structure. Lance climbs a sloping trapezoid-like mound jutting out of the floor, jumps to the top of a nearby column, and leaps across different shapes until he stands on a towering block with a hidden staircase. This is the perfect vantage point: tall enough to see everything, difficult to be seen, and with an escape route. He crouches down and peers over the edge of the block.

Though he doesn’t see Lotor, he can hear him. “You think a stupid kiss is going to unsettle me?” Lotor calls into the darkness, but his voice betrays him. It shakes a little.

Lance bites down a grin and tilts his head, considering where the sound came from. It’s to his right. He turns, and sure enough, he sees just a flicker of movement not too far from his hiding spot. Careless, for Lotor to reveal himself so early in the game.

Lance descends the stairs and switches from cover to cover as he sneaks toward the glimpse he caught.

“I’ve traveled the galaxy and experienced much more than you can even imagine,” Lotor taunts. It’s almost convincing.

Oh, he can’t help himself. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you put those lips to good use instead of just bragging?”

Lance quickly exchanges cover after that and waits. He’s not surprised when Lotor doesn’t investigate the sound right away, but he knows Lotor pinpointed the location nonetheless. Lance waits crouched in the darkness like a spider in its web.

“Once I’ve found you,” Lotor murmurs, closer now, “I’ll show you just what I’m capable of.”

And Lance knows Lotor is trying to trick him into thinking he’ll make a straight line toward where he heard Lance spoke. But Lance knows better. Lotor will try to circle around and surprise Lance. Little does he realize, Lance is ready.

Sure enough, after a few patient ticks, Lotor walks right in front of him.

 _Quick_ , Lance thinks to himself. _This is your chance for a cool one-liner._

Ah! He’s got it. “And this is what a human is capable of,” he says, then fires.

For the first time, Lotor’s training suit lights up, the crystals protecting him from harm. He spins toward where Lance stands triumphant, smoking phaser in hand. The wide-eyed look on the prince’s face when the lights come on make Lance want to speak Spanish.

“ _Palomita inocente que te dejaste engañar_ ,” Lance sing-songs as he takes off his goggles.

Instead of anger or shock, Lotor’s shoulders relax, and he approaches Lance quickly. Lance freezes as he braces for whatever is about to happen. He lets Lotor push him against the wall and continue the kiss from earlier, except this time, it goes on much longer.

Lance can feel himself heating up inside his training suit as he closes his eyes and matches the intensity Lotor pours into the kiss. He’s had his fair share of experiments back at the Garrison, but nothing like this. Lotor’s lips move fast, almost too fast for Lance to keep up with, and his tongue brushes Lance’s. Lance moans softly and opens his mouth wider, inviting. Their tongues meet without hesitation.

His heart thuds in his ears as he tentatively reaches up and buries his hands in Lotor’s hair. It’s as soft as he thought it would be, and his fingers slide through the strands like silk. Lotor hums, and Lance can feel it vibrate in the kiss.

Just when it seems like too much, too hot, Lance has burned from an ember to a flame--Lotor breaks the kiss. They both struggle to catch their breath, and Lotor’s face is close, vulnerable. Lance can read the surprise and the desire on Lotor’s face as if he was looking in a mirror.

Lotor’s hands still pin Lance’s shoulders against the artificial wall, which Lance is grateful for; he probably can’t stand on his own after a kiss like that. He tries to speak first. “So that was…”

“...My way of welcoming you into our ranks,” Lotor concludes. “I hope you feel welcomed.”

Lance laughs, his voice unusually high. Lotor lets him go and leans away. He smooths his hair from where Lance tousled it.

“I just--can’t believe this,” Lance says, sounding hysterical even to himself. “I kissed a Galra. I kissed the prince of the Galra. How does that even make sense?”

“I didn’t realize it was so novel to you,” Lotor mutters.

Lance straightens up and is relieved to find his legs haven’t completely turned to jelly. “I just mean, well, it’s weird, isn’t it? A paladin of Voltron and the Galra leader. We’re supposed to be enemies.”

For once, Lotor isn’t confident and cocky. He smiles sheepishly and says, “I guess it’s not that weird to me. I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.”

“Maybe this is a sign,” Lance says. “That things can change.”

Lotor takes Lance’s hand and slowly walks with him out of the training room. They don’t say anything, just existing in each other’s presence, until they reach the doors. Abruptly, they both retract their hands; it’s difficult to tell who let go first. Lotor clears his throat and tries to give a nonchalant critique of Lance’s technique battle-wise. However, Lance can see the smile in his eyes trying to fight its way on his face. Lance leans against the wall and pretends to be listening, but he’s really watching Lotor’s lips and imagining what else he’d like to do with them.

Of course, he’d had these thoughts shortly after meeting Lotor, too, but it was just a reaction to the objective attractiveness of the prince. Now… It’s something more. He’s not sure what, but he’s not afraid to explore it. He’s not afraid anymore, period.

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant,” Lotor concludes.

Lance snaps to attention and gives an exaggerated bow. “Yes, Sire. _Vrepit Sa_.” When he straightens, Lotor is shaking his head at him.

“Quit that nonsense,” he says.

Lance chuckles and takes a step back toward his quarters. “Same time tomorrow?”

Lotor loses the fight against his smile. It quirks the corner of his mouth. “No, dear paladin. I will be retrieving you as soon as possible to discuss your role in our… mission. For now, rest.” He starts to turn away, then glances back over his shoulder with a sly slant to his eyes. “Oh, and try not to dream about me too much, Lieutenant.”

 _What an egotist_. Lance blushes and snorts. “You wish.” Before either of them do something stupid, he hurries away. Heart beating strangely in his chest, the scene replaying in his head over and over, Lance thinks he’s lucky to make it to his room without falling apart on the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :) Just so you know, I have NOT forgotten about this fic. I still have plenty of ideas for it and really want to write more, but with finals coming up and work, I've been incredibly busy. After I'm out of school for the summer, I'll be able to maintain a much more steady update schedule.
> 
> Also, the phrase Lance says to Lotor is something like "Innocent dove who let itself be fooled." It's what some Latin countries use a phrase after a prank. I'm not certain Cuba is one of these countries, please correct me if I'm wrong!
> 
> Thank you everyone for your comments, kudos, and patience with this fic! You're beautiful!


	7. Best Kept Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance POV/Keith POV  
> Lotor and Lance plot  
> Lotor and Lance do other stuff too  
> The Blade of Marmora gets involved  
> Reports of Treason

When Lotor brought them to a conference room in assurance that no one would disturb them, he had probably meant for planning purposes, not just for a makeout session. Lance knows it’s important, of course, but he hasn’t been able to keep that kiss from earlier out of his head.

“Focus, Lance,” Lotor says, leaning away from Lance. Though the prince is frowning, his face is suspiciously flush with color.

“I am focusing,” Lance says, but as soon as Lotor starts talking again, Lance’s eyes fall to his lips. The prince has such a soft, talented mouth… can Lotor blame him for getting entranced?

“ _Lance,”_ Lotor snaps.

Lance yanks his gaze up from Lotor’s lips to look at his narrowed eyes. “What? I’m listening.”

“Then what did I just say?” challenges the prince.

“You said… something something Voltron, something Galra, something something.” Lance smiles, trying for cuteness, but Lotor runs his hand down his face and sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t just… you know, and then pretend it never happened... Humans don’t work that way,” he adds.

Lotor huffs; it might be a weak laugh, actually. “Don’t play the human card. You’re just lustful.” Pushing his chair back from the conference table, he stands, clasps his hands behind his back, and slowly circles the table.

Lance makes a noise of protest but lets himself look over Lotor. Now that he’s changed out of his training gear, he looks less like a Galra soldier who has trained to fight in his father’s army and more like a prince who has never seen battle. His heeled boots clack against the metal floor and his cape ripples with each step. White hair falls in waves past his shoulders. Lance’s hands itch to stroke through it again.

“What I said was,” Lotor continues in exaggerated patience, his profile visible across the table, “we should have very little to do with the downfall ourselves. That has been the Blade of Marmora’s flaw; they think they alone can destroy the Galra empire. Fools. Voltron is the only force that can do that.”

Lance nods. “Sounds right.”

“But how to give Voltron an edge without making ourselves suspicious?” Lotor muses.  
“How, indeed,” agrees Lance.

Lotor stops adjacent from Lance and snaps his gaze to him. “Are you mocking me?”

“What? No, no, no,” says Lance, lifting his hands to indicate innocence. “I was just agreeing with you.”

Testily, Lotor replies, “Well, you’re not being very helpful. Care to contribute?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something useful would be nice,” Lotor says. At Lance’s wide-eyed expression, his face becomes a touch less stern. “I’m sorry, Lance. Just--I feel like you’re forgetting the mission here.”

Lance sits up straight and folds his arms on the tabletop. Serious Lance, activated. “No, I’m not forgetting. I’m still on board. What should I be contributing?”

“You’re the inside information to Voltron, remember?” says Lotor. “You should use your knowledge to your advantage. How can we give Voltron an edge without anyone knowing we’re doing it?”

Ah, yes, his insider info. Lance rubs the back of his neck as he thinks, and Lotor finishes his pacing around the table when an idea pops into his head.

“You mentioned the Blade of Marmora,” says Lance. “How do you know about it?”

Sinking into the chair opposite Lance once more, Lotor shrugs. “As a ruler, you know about the people who might be a threat to your reign. The Blade isn’t as secretive as they’d hope.” Thoughtfully, he adds, “Though, no matter the screening Mother puts our soldiers through, the Blade always seems to sneak in somehow.”

Lance claps. “Perfect! Keith is like _this_ with the Blade of Marmora.” Lance crosses his fingers to indicate the alliance between Voltron and the Blade, all thanks to Keith and Ulaz. “All we have to do is feed them some information, just a little bit of careless leaks here and there, and bam! Voltron is one step ahead of the Galra.”

Lotor stares at him. Gears are shifting behind those yellow eyes, Lance can practically see them. “That… could work,” he says at last.

“There, did I contribute enough?” says Lance.

Lotor’s expression softens. “Again, I’m sorry. Your idea is pretty good. In fact…. I could kiss you for coming up with it.”

_Oh_. Just like that, his attention is back to kissing Lotor. “Why don’t you, then?”

Lotor taps his chin in mock consideration. “Do I really want to do that, though? Getting you to focus now is like tempting a yorzark to stand on one tentacle.”

“I have no idea what that is.” Lance leans in and kisses him.

This time, Lotor relents to Lance’s advance. He shivers when Lance’s hands slide down his long white hair to rest on his hips. Though he didn’t plan it, it’s moments later that Lotor’s back is on the table and Lance is holding himself over the prince, kisses moving from his lips down to his neck. Lotor’s thighs are tight around Lance’s hips, as though afraid Lance will move away, but Lance has no intention of doing so.

His tongue grazes Lotor’s neck, making the Galra prince moan. His hands smooth across Lance’s chest, searching. He must find what he’s looking for, because Lance hears his zipper opening. His bodysuit falls away from his shoulders and slides down to his waist.

Lustful, Lotor called him, but that’s the pot calling the kettle black. Lance looks up to him, surprised, and Lotor appraises him without shame.

This would normally make Lance shy away, but he hasn’t been the same since he first met Lotor. Fear has become a foreign concept to him. Rather than retreat, he owns it. “Like what you see?”

Lotor smirks. “Oh, yes. You’re beautiful.”

Lance feels strangely sentimental and on fire at the same time. He resumes appreciating Lotor’s throat and collar with his lips as Lotor’s hands explore Lance’s muscled torso, until he suddenly goes still.

“We… mm… still have to plan,” Lotor protests as he grips tight to Lance’s shoulders and brings him back up to Lotor’s eye level. The prince is definitely blushing now, and it makes Lance chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” says Lance, knowing he must be red-faced, too. He’s not sure how far he would have gone had Lotor not stopped him... “What else is there to plan? Get information, give it to the Blade, set up an easy target for Voltron.”

“Yes, but--”

The sound of the door opening makes them both swivel their heads toward it. A Galra soldier stands only half in the doorway, as though shocked at the scene. “...Sire?”

Lotor practically shoves Lance back into his chair and stands up so swiftly that his cape spins around him. “How dare you barge in on your commander without first making your presence known!”

The soldier drops her gaze and seems to tremble. “Greatest apologies, sire, but I was sent by Haggar to fetch you. The meeting with the Council has started.”

Lance tries to surreptitiously zip up his bodysuit as Lotor catches his breath. “Ah. Yes. I knew it had started, cadet. You will tell the Council members I’ll be joining them shortly.”

“Yes, sire,” says the cadet.

The cadet starts to leave, but not before Lotor says poisonously, “And you will not speak a word of what you have seen to anyone, or you will regret your entire existence.”

Lance shivers, and the cadet nods solemnly. “ _Vrepit Sa_.” She shuts the door and leaves quickly.

Ticks pass by with Lotor’s back still to Lance. Dear quiznak… what have they done?

Finally, Lotor turns to see him and gives a brisk nod. “She will tell no one,” he says, “if she cares at all about her life.”

Lance winces. “Lotor…”

“It’s fine,” Lotor says, but there’s a crease between his brows that wasn’t there before.

\--

Keith twirls his dagger impatiently as Allura and the Blade member, Kor, exchange pleasantries.

“I am well, Princess. Your concern is appreciated,” Kor says from the large screen in the middle of the control room. He’s a Galra with long furred ears and a narrow face. Keith partially wants to stab that face, because why would it take the Blade of Marmora, a secretive group thousands of years old, almost a month to get a report on Lance?

Allura nods and, thankfully, gets down to business. “You messaged last week saying you have a lock on the Galra emperor’s location.”

Each of the paladins lean forward. Even Coran is twisting his mustache with more vigor than usual.

“I do,” says Kor. “My spy was able to infiltrate the latest Council meeting. The Blue Paladin was there and accidentally left the chamber door ajar.”

Keith grinds his teeth to avoid his temper getting the best of him. “And?”

Kor continues, “Their latest endeavor involves travelling to a prisoner base in the Palomosi star system, near the planet Gethun, to retrieve a political prisoner they believe can direct them to a better method of harnessing planets’ quintessence.”

Coran shakes his head. “Galra will stoop to any level to get more power. No offense,” he adds.

“None taken,” say Keith and Kor at the same time. The Galra and part-Galra frown at each other, and Pidge snorts.

Shiro and Allura exchange a glance. “I don’t know what that means,” says Shiro.

“It means they’re relatively close,” Allura explains. “We could be there in a jump. Plus, Gethun is a wasteland, which is good for us.”

Hunk says, “A wasteland, hooray?”

Coran agrees with the princess, per usual. “Allura has a point. If the planet is a wasteland, then no Galra settlements should be on it. We can hide in its storms while we wait for the Galra to show up.”

Keith sheaths his dagger and stands. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

“There’s more,” says Kor. “It’s about… the Blue Paladin.”

“Is Lance okay?” Hunk asks.

Keith’s mind runs over the possibilities. “You said Lance was in the Council,” he recalls, and Kor’s yellow eyes shift to watch him. “He left the door open. Does that mean Lance is trying to help us rescue him?”

Kor bites his lip and glances away from the screen. Whatever he has to say, he’s not excited to say it. “It’s about his relationship to Prince Lotor. According to my source, the two have grown… close.”

Allura scowls at the screen, and Keith remembers the distaste she had treated Lotor with when the prince first contacted them. “How close?”

“Prince Lotor has been training Lance for the last two weeks,” Kor says. “He promoted Lance to Lieutenant, a three full ranks over my spy. And there’s something else.”

Keith’s blood runs cold. He snaps, “Well, spit it out.” Shiro, for once, doesn’t scold him. Each of them wear similar faces of concern.

“They… seem to be… at least, what my spy says...” Kor mutters the last word, “...lovers.”

Everyone is quiet; Keith is the one who speaks first. He’s shaking his head slowly. “No. Not Lance. You’re ridiculous.”

“Keith’s right, Lance… likes someone else,” Hunk says. (Which, is the most obvious statement in the universe, but Keith, of course, misses the implication there.)

Kor spreads his hands. “This is just what my spy told me.”

“Maybe your spy is lying to you,” says Allura, folding her arms and looking away. “Lotor is incapable of love.”

“I trust her with my life, Princess,” says Kor.

A tense silence stretches between them as they each understand this implication. “Whatever the case may be,” Shiro says in an almost even tone, “we have somewhere to start. Once we rescue Lance, we can figure this out for ourselves.”

Keith keeps shaking his head. No, he won’t accept these lies. The spy is obviously misunderstanding something at best, or trying to deceive them at worst.

Kor nods. “That is reasonable, Black Paladin. We will keep in touch.”

The screen turns off. Keith stands, mutters “excuse me” to Shiro who is standing in front of the door, and marches out of the control room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've gotten to write since I got out of school last week, so this is coming out on a Monday instead of a Friday or a weekend. Thanks so mich for your patience, dear reader. I certainly have not forgotten this fic, and now that I have time for it, it should be done by the end of June at the latest? My goal is August 1st, but I'll probably finish this before that.
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. You're so kind and beautiful, every one of you. Please know I take your ideas and your suggestions very seriously.


	8. The Double Agent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance POV/Keith POV  
> Mission to the prison  
> Unexpected ambush  
> Unpleasant truths discovered  
> Keith takes a beating

Only a couple quintents after the meeting with the Council, Lance is on a smaller transport ship to the planet of Gethun. Though Lotor doesn’t pilot the ship as Lance had expected, he does seem to oversee everything.

Haggar had protested Lotor going on a simple prisoner retrieve, but Lotor shot her down in front of everyone by reminding her of the failures Zarkon oversaw during his reign, all due to the fact that he trusted less important, less competent soldiers with these tasks.

Of course, Lance was too scared to look at her, so he isn’t sure how she must have reacted to that beyond a cold, “Yes, sire.”

When Lotor made his exclusive list of those whom he wanted to accompany him, Lance had been more surprised than he should be that his name was on it.

“You’re one of the best shots in the ranks,” Lotor had said with a shrug.

Lance smiled. “Thank--”

“You’re also too adorable not to bring along,” he’d continued.

So, ignoring that last comment, Lance had taken a real, working phaser gun, boarded the ship, took position beside Lotor’s center throne as his bodyguard, and now watches as the emptiness of space slowly reveals a hazy-looking planet.

One of the Galra attending to a computer module squints out the glass shield. “What’s that all around it?”

Lotor uncrosses his legs and leans forward in his chair to get a better look. “Ah, the Gethun’s storms,” he explains. “This planet is uninhabitable to most known life forms due to its carbon dioxide and sulfuric acid atmosphere, but the constant storms would probably kill anything else as well. Thankfully, we’re not going to be in those storms, just the prison there.”

He points, but Lance can’t see the prison until they’re much closer. The planet dwarfs the prison into looking like a child’s missing Lego piece rather than a high-security Galra prison. By the time they reach the prison, the planet takes up their entire field of view behind it.

Lance shifts his weight from foot to foot, wondering if Voltron is somehow aware of the Galra empire’s plan. Did leaving the door open at the council meeting help at all? He’s starting to lose hope when one of the Galra report, “We’re getting no response back from the prison, sire. Shall we cancel the mission?”

All eyes go to Lotor, but he waves his hand. “They’re likely busy taking care of severe criminals, Iknar. We can dock ourselves.”

The Galra exchange looks, but Iknar turns back to his screen. “Beginning preparations to dock.”

Lance bites his lip and tries to catch Lotor’s eye, but the prince is looking resolutely ahead, and absolutely bored with the whole thing. No sign of concern shows on his face. Could it be Voltron? Or could it be something else?

Lance isn’t sure he should feel excited yet. After all, a prison riot could explain the radio silence. Or maybe a bad connection? How did Galra radio tech work, anyway?

While he’s puzzling that out, the Galra secure the ship to the docking bay. Thankfully, this goes without a problem, with a long, covered walkway extending from the prison and hitching to the door. Lance and the others need not worry about the vacuum of space.

The door opens, and none of the Galra move until Lotor stands and starts toward the exit. Lance hesitates, unsure whether he’s supposed to follow or not, and after a few steps, Lotor looks over his shoulder at him.

“Coming, Lieutenant?” he says.

“Yeah, Lo--I mean, yes, sire,” Lance blurts and clumsily catches up with him. Once they have filed onto the walkway, the rest of the crew follows.

Other than the emergency lights shining at their ankles, it’s dark in the shute, and it doesn’t get any better once they set foot in the prison base. Rather than be greeted by seeable light and Galra guards, the base is dark enough that Lance has to squint. He didn’t think to bring his night vision goggles, because he hadn’t expected to need them.

The other Galra immediately lift their weapons. One of them---Iknar? Lance can’t tell--hisses, “Sire, this sight has been compromised. We must evacuate immediate--”

Lance hears a familiar shout of “Voltron, go!” and sees a violet light streak through the darkness before chaos breaks loose.

 _Voltron! They’re here!_ Normally, Lance would be excited, but the fighting and shouting in the darkness, the blasting of phasers and clash of weapons, tells him to prepare for battle.

Unable to see, he uses the wall as his guide. Pressing his back against the nearest wall, he keeps his phaser gun at the ready and starts to slide his way out of the immediate fire of the paladin’s and Galra’s plasma shots.

What was he supposed to do at this point? Fight for Voltron? Fight with the Galra? Where was Lotor, and what was he doing? He backs himself into a corner and tries to formulate a plan.

Or at least, he was going to before someone’s hand clamps over his mouth and an arm wraps around his waist.

Lance’s training kicks in. He stomps on the person’s in-step, making them let go out of pain, then grabs their arm, shifts his weight, and throws them over his shoulder. His phaser is pointed at where their chest must be.

The person, now flat on their back at Lance’s feet, groans. “Lance, it’s me,” they croak. In the low-level floor lights, Lance dimly recognizes the red paladin armor.

“Keith!” Lance whispers and drops to one knee by him. “Keith, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Keith recovers quickly, rolling to his knees and lifting his bayard to point in Lance’s face. Lance can’t read his expression in the darkness. “Put your weapon down, now,” he says.

“What are you--?” Lance starts, but Keith barks, “Drop it!” Lance, stunned, drops his phaser. Keith must sweep it away with his foot because Lance hears it clatter heavily away from his reach.

“Stand up,” says Keith.

The helmet must be allowing Keith to see in the dark, Lance guesses. Slowly, he gets to his feet, his hands raised, and he can practically feel the bayard follow him up. From there, his hands are twisted roughly behind his back and fastened together by the wrist with electric hand cuffs. Gee, what a familiar feeling.

At the sharp pains in his wrists, Lance recovers enough to snap, “What is your problem, mullet head?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Keith says with equal bitterness. “Let’s go.”

Keith’s bayard digs into Lance’s back, ushering him forward and to the left, until it’s not. Confused, Lance spins around to see Keith roll into cover as a figure with long hair illuminated by the floor lights takes aim at him.

“Lance, get down!” Lotor shouts.

Lance drops to his knees, wincing at the ache that goes with hitting them against the ground, and pushes himself backward until his back hits the wall. Someone must have found the lights, because there is suddenly enough light from above for Lance to see his friends and the Galra, including Keith and Lotor, engaged in battle.

“Everyone, stop!” Lance tries, but no one seems to hear him. Shiro ducks below a plasma blast and comes up to punch a Galra’s helmet off with his glowing violet hand; a Galra soldier narrowly dodges a spray of plasma from Hunk’s bayard; Lotor finds an opening in Keith’s firing to return fire.

Lance rolls his wrists, but the cuffs are annoyingly good at their job. He looks around for some way to get free, but Keith’s sudden yell has his attention back on the fight.

Lotor has somehow avoided the bayard (Keith is still a terrible shot, it seems) to get close. Keith tries to transform his bayard into a sword in time, but Lotor has already kicked the bayard out of his hands and shot the paladin in the chest. Keith hits the wall and slides to the ground.

“Keith!” Lance cries. He hopelessly watches as Shiro loses consciousness after a Galra smashes his head against the ground; Hunk and Pidge retreat further into the prison under a hail of Galra fire; Keith is motionless as Lotor steps up to him and aims his phaser into Keith’s face.

“No!” Lance acts without thinking; he jumps to his feet and throws himself bodily into Lotor, making the prince fall and drop his phaser. Lance just barely manages to catch his balance and looks back at Keith.

A black hole smokes in Keith’s armor; his eyes are trying to focus. “Lance…” His head drops.

“No,” Lance says again, quieter as he sees the carnage before him. His friends and fellow paladins, unconscious, or maybe worse. This was not supposed to happen. Voltron was not supposed to lose.

Lotor is on his feet before Lance realizes it and grabbing his arm to lead him to the walkway. “Soldiers, retreat!” he calls into the jail, and those who are still standing obey immediately, following them into the shute back to their ship.

“Lotor, wait!” Lance says and struggles against his hold.

Lotor’s grip only tightens as he drags Lance onto the ship and throws him into a chair. Lance hits the chair with a grunt. They’re about to depart when they see the castleship rise from the storms below.

“Schedule a jump, now!” Lotor barks. The Galra work furiously at the control panels.

Rather than attack, however, the ship is docking to the prison where the Galra ship had previously been. When the ship jumps a galaxy out of harm’s way, Lance feels his heart ripped out and left behind with Voltron.

\--

Keith wakes up to cold air hitting his face. He opens his eyes to see the paladins of Voltron, as well as Allura and Coran, watching him anxiously. A moment later, he realizes he’s in a healing pod, his armor traded for the pod bodysuit.

“Steady, Keith,” Shiro says, grabbing Keith’s arm as he stumbles out of the pod. Keith uses this to get his balance and blinks sleepily at the people surrounding him.

“What happened?” he mumbles.

Allura and Shiro exchange a glance, and Hunk says, “You got a plasma blast right to the chest, dude. Coran says you’re lucky you’re not dead.”

“Of course you wouldn’t be dead,” Coran intejects hurriedly, “just very, very close to it. The paladin armor protects against most projectiles most of the time. All thanks to my handiwork, I might add.”

Keith shakes his head, becoming impatient. “I meant, what happened at the compound? Is everyone all right? Where’s Lance?”

Suddenly, no one is excited to speak. “He... went back with them,” says Allura. “The Galra. It seems…. Kor was right.”  
His stomach drops, and he leans against Shiro for support. “I’m sorry,” Shiro says, squeezing his arm comfortingly. “But we don’t know the whole story yet. Maybe Lance isn’t… himself.”

That would make sense. Keith’s memories come back in pieces: Lance hurling him over his shoulder like a rag doll; Lotor trying to protect Lance; Lance shoving Lotor out of the way before he had a chance to kill him.

“Wait,” Keith says. “Lance saved me. He shoved Lotor out of the way when he was trying to kill me.”

“Are you sure?” says Allura, and Shiro turns to look at her.

“He’s right. I remember that before I passed out.”

Allura glances to Hunk and Pidge, but Pidge shrugs. “We were focused on surviving that.”

“At any rate,” Allura says, “that team was more specialized than we were prepared to fight. Something isn’t right. Why would the prince of the Galra himself go to such trouble for just a prisoner pick-up?”

The question sits uneasily among the Voltron team. Eventually, Pidge suggests, “Maybe they knew we were going to be there. Maybe they were expecting it.”

What little hope Keith had disappears when Shiro says, “Lance set us up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked finally getting action! It was a lot of fun to write, but it's even more fun reading your thoughts about this work's direction, what you would like to see, and what you thought of the chapter. As always, I read every comment, so please feel free to leave your honest thoughts. Don't forgot to give it a kudos if you think I should keep going.  
> Thank you for reading! You are so lovely and kind! Please have a good day, you ray of sunshine!!


	9. Lieutenant Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance POV/Keith POV  
> Lance gets more tangled in Lotor's web  
> Lotor stands up for Lance  
> The truth about Haggar (maybe?)  
> Refusing to give up

Once the extraction team departs from the ship and Lotor has led Lance to a quiet place away from prying Galra ears, not even pausing to take off Lance’s handcuffs, he begins berating him. “What the quiznak do you think you were doing, Lance?”

Lance shoots a glance in either direction to be sure no one else is in the dimly lit hallway. No, in fact, it’s just Lotor and himself in the corridor. Lotor’s arms are folded and his eyes are narrowed in a way that reminds Lance of Commander Iverson back at the Galaxy Garrison.

Lance leans against the wall, hands still fastened behind his back. “You were going to kill Keith. That wasn’t part of the deal, Lotor.”

“Keith?” Lotor’s expression only becomes more severe. “You mean the red paladin?”

“Yes,” says Lance. “I couldn’t sit back and just let you--”

“Lance, you _fool_ ,” Lotor groans. He unfolds his arms to drag his hands down his face. “I wasn’t going to kill him. Of course I wasn’t going to kill him, I was just playing my part as the Galra leader. I was going to _threaten_ him to reveal to us where the prisoner was. Kill him! Really! How would that help Voltron at all?”

Lance blinks. “Oh… I guess--”

“And, really, a ‘thank you’ is what I expected,” continues Lotor. Lance winces at the sharpness of his voice. “I mean, the red paladin had you at gun point, remember? That didn’t seem very friendly for the goody-goody Voltron.”

“I think he was confused,” mutters Lance.

Lotor barks a short laugh. “Confused? He seemed pretty intent on bending you to his will. You still haven’t thanked me, by the way.”

Lance mutters, “Thank you,” and tries to remember why he felt angry at Lotor in the first place. Of course, everything Lotor was saying made sense. As usual, he was his overdramatic, useless self, needing rescuing and not even playing the role of damsel-in-distress right. The fifth wheel of Voltron is still a fifth wheel with the Galra. A fool.

Ducking his head, Lance adds, “I didn’t mean to blow our cover, Lotor. I’m sorry. I just reacted without thinking.”

Lance hears Lotor sigh and move closer. Slender fingers cup his chin and lift his gaze to see a gentle smile and kind eyes. “It’s okay, Lance,” Lotor says. “You didn’t know any better. Besides, it was my fault letting you take me by surprise, anyway. Of course you still feel loyalty to Voltron, even though they no longer care for you.”

The soothing effect of Lotor’s voice surrenders to cold shock at this last statement. Lance frowns. “What?”

“Well, it’s clear they think you’re some kind of criminal,” Lotor says with a shrug. “You had to have noticed the way they treated you, attacked you.”

Lance’s breath catches. “No, they’re my friends,” he tries weakly, but Lotor only rubs his shoulder pityingly.

“It’s not your fault they mistreated you,” says Lotor.

All of Lance’s memories of Voltron come rushing back under a new lense. Was it true? Did Voltron just keep him out of pity? Lance vaguely remembers hearing Allura say something to the effect of the paladins being an emergency replacement, not truly being qualified or at least as qualified as the past paladins were. Lance never understood that, looking at his team, but now he gets a sinking feeling she meant him in particular.

Allura never seemed to like Lance much, especially not when he flirts with her. Stupid. He never should’ve tried those stupid moves, because of course she’d hold it against him.

Then there was Shiro, who sighed when he saw Lance goofing off and making mistakes. There were a few times when he actually seemed proud of him, but now Lance is starting to doubt those, too. Were those just moments when he had gotten lucky? How is he supposed to prove himself to Shiro when he can barely pilot his lion?

Keith had said as much on a few occasions. _You are the worst pilot ever_. And he could never dream of competing with Keith. He used to think they were equal opposites, but after seeing what Keith is capable of with Voltron and without…

This whole time, he’s been the fifth wheel. Other than losing the blue lion, Voltron must be glad to be rid of him. Or worse, they must hate him for apparently siding with the Galra. He’s always been holding them back, and now, they think he’s trying to hurt them, his best friends.

Lance’s thoughts swirl in dizzying circles. _Not really my friends… Don’t really care about me… Never liked me... Hate me…?_

“Whoa, whoa, Lance, no,” Lotor murmurs when a sob escapes Lance’s chest. Lance clenches his teeth, trying hard to force away the tears pricking his eyes and the ache in his chest, but it’s overpowering.

Lotor pulls him into his arms and holds Lance as he cries. He feels pathetic breaking down like this, over something that was so obvious to everyone but him, but he really can’t help it. He wants to jump out of a porthole into empty space without a helmet. He wants to go home.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” soothes Lotor as he gently rubs Lance’s back. His hold comforts Lance somewhat, strong and familiar. “You’re a good soldier, Lance, and a trustworthy lieutenant. But you need to pull it together, because we’ll have to report to the council why we failed our mission today. Don’t embarrass yourself by crying like a child.”

Lance is slightly hurt by the implication that he’s behaving childishly, but he knows Lotor is right. When Lotor pulls away and wipes Lance’s tears off his face with his thumb, Lance takes deep breaths and digs his nails into his palms to distract from the self-deprecating thoughts.

“Good, good,” says Lotor. Once Lance has himself mostly put together, Lotor helps him out of the cuffs and leads the way to the throne room.

Once they reach the throne room, where a group of Galra are already gathered including the rest of the extraction team, Lotor separates himself from Lance. For a moment, Lance feels abandoned, but he reminds himself that Lotor and he can’t be seen together. _Don’t be stupid, Lance_ , he tells himself as he wills away the encroaching feelings of despair. _Don’t be upset. You need to calm down. Your emotions don’t matter right now..._

“I can’t say I’m much surprised by the way the mission turned out, Lieutenant,” says a cold voice close to Lance’s ear.

He spins around and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of Haggar, cloaked and evil-looking, standing right behind him. He casts a quick glance and notices no one else seems to notice them talking. Currently, Lotor is engaged with a couple of Galra generals discussing… something.

If Lance can’t hear them, they must certainly not be able to hear Haggar.

“Uh… What do you want, Haggar?” Lance tries to protrude confidence, but Haggar continues unmoved.

She steeples her fingers in front of her and says with exaggerated calmness, “I simply find it an interesting coincidence that Prince Lotor’s previous missions have never failed, except for this one, when you were present. How odd that Voltron seemed to know the location of this mission and even seemed to know the purpose of it all.”

Lance stops breathing and stares into those dark eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’s putting him under some kind of spell. Or maybe she is? After all, she is a witch.

Keeping his expression and face as clear as he can, he says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do, Lieutenant,” says Haggar, a sharp edge appearing in her voice. “Prince Lotor has drained the quintessence from entire planets. Are you suggesting a simple prisoner retrieve is beyond his abilities?”

“No, I--” Lance stops. “He drained what?”

Haggar rolls her eyes. “Life energy, you fool. The most powerful fuel in the universe. With Voltron, we can harness an entire galaxy in one shot, but you don’t truly seem to want that. Is something wrong, Lieutenant? You’re looking quite pale just now.”

Hazy memories of Allura and Coran explaining what quintessence was comes back to Lance, and yes, he feels sick. Why had Lotor forgotten to mention this?

“Mother,” says Lotor in warning, and Lance vaguely registers him approaching from the corner of his eye.

Haggar lifts her chin. “Sire,” she says evenly. “I was just speaking with the Lieutenant concerning your mission and his role in it.”

Lotor stops beside Lance and places his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Lieutenant Lance was an invaluable soldier in our most recent mission, I can assure you that.”

At this, her lips curve in a scowl, and she says loud enough that every person present in that throne room can hear her, “Sire, I dislike questioning your judgment, but how can we be sure that the Lieutenant’s loyalties are with us and not still tied with Voltron?”

All yellow eyes are on Lotor and Lance. The silence that greets Haggar’s question makes Lance’s hair stand up. The fact that Lotor doesn’t immediately answer makes Lance nervous enough to look up at him. Rather than a blank or unconfident expression, however, he sees passion burning in Lotor’s eyes.

“As an Altean,” he says in cool, measured tones, “and as the godmother of the princess Allura, the Galra deserve the same suspicions about you.”

Godmother? Allura had never said anything about that. Could it be true? She had seemed shocked to learn Haggar was Altean, after all. But if Zarkon was the former black paladin, maybe it could be that they were close once. And it didn’t seem like something Lotor would make up.

A chill goes down Lance’s spine at Haggar’s expression change. Rather than anger or bitterness or shock, she seems to shrink in on herself, lowering her head and folding her arms in her robes. This must be a low point for the witch, and it’s the only emotion besides malice Lance has ever seen from her. He’s not sure what to call it. Grief? Regret, maybe?

Lotor turns to the spectators this exchange has gathered. If the Galra soldiers are shocked, they hide it well as they listen to Lotor’s next works with matching blank expressions, just like Lance. “All of you will understand that despite our origins, we are united under the same goal: to win strength and prosperity for all Galra. Galra isn’t just a species, it’s a nation, a powerful nation worthy of respect.”

Lotor gestures to his mother and orates, “My mother is Altean, but she is as much Galra as any one of you. I am your emperor, and I am Galra.”

Both of his hands now rest on Lance’s shoulders as he turns him to stand in front of Lotor. “And Lance may be a human, a species far beyond our origin galaxy, but he embodies the traits that have made our nation fearsome. Lance is Galra.”

“I am?” says Lance.

“Yes,” continues Lotor. “And you will be the key to our victory. Lance, _vrepit sa_.”

“ _Vrepit sa,_ ” agree the spectators, and they salute him.

Lance looks around at the soldiers in salute to him and feels strangely conflicted. He’s working against them… but they respect him. Even though he’s human and so different from the Galra, they accept him as one of them. They think he’s useful.

It’s more than Voltron or the Galaxy Garrison ever thought of him. For the first time since leaving Voltron, he doesn’t miss being a part of it.

\--

“So you said you have questions,” Lotor murmurs against Lance’s ear.

Hologram galaxies spin around them in a blueish hue. If Lance unfocuses his eyes, he can almost pretend he’s in the ocean. Lance leans back in Lotor’s lap, resting his back against Lotor’s chest as his prince--no, his emperor--reaches around him to type away at the control panel.

“A few,” Lance admits. “First of all, did you mean what you said earlier? About me being Galra?”

In the sea of turning stars, somewhere, is Earth. Lotor frowns at the galaxy map and murmurs distractedly, “Of course. I’ve believed that since you defeated me in your training.”

Lance smiles at the memory of that and tries to remember his other questions. “What does ‘ _vrepit sa_ ’ mean?”

“It’s a military salute from an old Galra saying,” explains Lotor. “In Galra tongue, of course. In the common language, I think the translation is closest to ‘victory at all costs.’”

“Hmm.” Lance just nods, somehow unsatisfied by that answer. It’s not as cool as he imagined it would be.

Blue star systems whirl around them in dizzying patterns. Lotor’s brow is furrowed in concentration, and Lance decides to focus on the crease between his eyebrows rather than the sickening holographic space map. It helps him think of his next question.

“Back in the throne room,” says Lance carefully. “Haggar mentioned that you’ve… ‘drained entire planets of quintessence.’”

Lotor merely glances at him. “And?”

“And…. isn’t that… wrong?” Lance asks in a small voice.

The galaxies go still and hang in the open space like fireflies. Lotor keeps his gaze forward but speaks with some strain. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Every soldier has a past’?”

“Something like that,” Lance says.

Lotor closes his eyes. “There are some things I regret, yes, if that is what you’re asking. Some things I did when I was still young and still under my father’s control. I understand if you’re not okay with that.”

Guilt twinges in Lance’s chest. He smoothes a lock of Lotor’s hair behind his pointed ear and cups his face. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Lotor exhales like he was holding his breath and says, “I’m glad.” Then he goes back to typing, and the hologram stars dance.

Lance is quiet as he lets Lotor search, content with the answers he received, but one more thought pops into his mind and tumbles out of his mouth. “Haggar was Allura’s godmother?”

“Sure,” says Lotor. “My father and King Alfor, her father, were paladins of Voltron and extremely close once. King Alfor entrusted Zarkon and Haggar with the responsibility of caring for Allura, should something happen to him.” Lotor sighs. “At least, that’s the story I was told.”

“Do you think it’s true?” Lance asks.

“I don’t believe my mother would lie to me about this,” Lotor confesses, “but she’s touched by bitterness and grief. It may not be her fault if it isn’t all true.”

This gave Lance some things to think about. Before he can ask his next question, however, the galaxies disappear and a singular planet slowly zooms into view. Lotor smirks at his own achievement. “Aha. Earth, as promised.”

Lance turns his head and lets himself take in the blue-tinged planet before him. Circles of clouds partially cover the green-brown land and rich dark oceans. A satellite floats toward what Lance recognizes as the Inquisitive Space Station, and a meteorite streaks toward Earth before being burned up in its atmosphere.

“This is as far as I can zoom in,” says Lotor. “Sorry, Lance.”

Somewhere on this planet, right now, is his family and his classmates at the Galaxy Garrison. Lance never thought that a picture of the Earth could make him choke up like this. “It’s still alive,” he whispers, filled with gratitude. Everyone is still alive; the Galra haven’t reached them.

“Of course,” Lotor says, raising an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’m just…” Lance clears his throat and grins at Lotor. “So what do you think? A pretty great planet, right?”

Lotor smiles back. “It’s gorgeous.”

The two enjoy the image of Earth rotating slowly for a moment longer before Lotor adds, “And Lance, once we complete our… mission… you can return to your planet.”

Lance nods. “To home.”

“To home,” Lotor says, his voice an octave lower.

Lance turns to him and remembers that for Lotor, home is just the Galra Central Command ship. He rests his arms around Lotor’s neck. “Of course, you’re invited to come along,” he says. “In fact, you’d probably be something of an outlaw, anyway, so you might as well hide on Earth.”

Lance laughs, but Lotor’s eyes are wide with awe. “You’d take me to your planet?” he says.

“Of course,” answers Lance.

Lotor gazes at him with so much affection that Lance is starting to blush. He leans forward and kisses him passionately. Lance struggles to catch his breath when he leans away from the kiss, grinning. Lotor murmurs, “I would be honored to live with you on Earth.”

And then they’re kissing again. This time, Lance isn’t sure who started it, and he doesn’t much care. He lets himself be taken apart by his Galra prince.

\--

When the castle is asleep--or pretending to sleep, rather--Keith slides out of his room and tucks his blade in a makeshift holster at his waist. The hallway is lit up by the electric sconces, as it always is, but the corridor is so quiet that Keith can hear his own breathing. Even as the other paladins are probably lying awake, the last mission turning over in their minds like it did in Keith’s, they’re going to stay put in their rooms.

But not Keith. He knows that Lance would never betray Voltron, because he knows Lance better than he knows anyone else. 

Keith had been puzzling over the events when a thought made him jump out of bed. If Lance was truly colluding with the Galra, he would have noticed how strangely quiet the base was and realized it was Voltron. In reality, he’d seemed shocked to see Keith.

Lance is innocent, and trapped, and Keith is not going to just lie awake staring at the ceiling or wait to convince the others.

He’s going to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit late, dear reader. I've worked the past six days non-stop, and I was only able to write a little bit each day if I was lucky. Thankfully, I've finally got this one finished!  
> It's interesting to see how you theorize about the direction of the story, and how many of you seem to like the Lancelot pairing. Though it's not how I plan this fic to end, I'm wondering if an alternative ending or something along those lines would interest you? I'm going to avoid writing the explicit part for this chapter here because I want this fic to stay almost kind of modest, but maybe I can put it as a separate chapter for those who really want to read it? It's just a thought. Feel free to comment with what you think about this or send me a message.
> 
> As always and forever, thank you to each of you who have been keeping up with this fic and supporting it with your kind words and by giving it kudos. I treasure every notif I get and I really, really appreciate it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. :) Have a great day.


	10. Return to the Space Mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance POV/Keith POV  
> The morning after  
> Shopping with Lotor  
> Lance is a shopaholic  
> An unexpected visitor  
> Lotor revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notes for this chapter are coming at the beginning this time, so here it is. Thanks for reading! This chapter is a bit longer than some of the others, but there was a lot to cover, so I hope it's not too bad for you. Let me know if I need to shorten it or split it into another chapter.  
> Not many chapters to go, I think, maybe just a handful. This is almost done! I really want it done by the end of June, but I maintain my original goal of August as the latest, before season 3 drops. Thank you guys so much for your kind words of support and your kudos. I really enjoy writing this, and the fact that you're enjoying it too makes it all the more worthwhile. Thaaank you!

Lance wakes to the soft pressure of lips on his cheek. Eyes fluttering, he mumbles, “Who’sit?”

“I’m a bit concerned you don’t seem to recognize me,” says a voice.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Lance turns over in Lotor’s arms and pretends a wide-eyed look. “Lotor? I never would have guessed!”

“Very funny,” Lotor says, and he kisses Lance’s temple.

Though he’s still tired and takes his sleep very seriously, Lance supposes this isn’t the worst thing in the world to wake up to. Lotor methodically kisses from Lance’s lips, down his chin, and then south of his chest, all as Lance moans softly. As he basks in the attention from his lover, the conversation from last night resurfaces in his mind: bringing Lotor to Earth.

He can’t even imagine what his mother would say to Lance showing up with an alien boyfriend, but he imagines she’d just be happy for his happiness. Surrounded by the blue of Lotor’s bedroom and shielded by his embrace, Lance can’t imagine another bad thing happening to him. With Lotor by his side, he knows he can take on any problem in his path.

Lotor gently nibbles Lance’s hip bone, exposed just above the bedsheets. His long hair brushes Lance’s stomach, making him laugh at the ticklish sensation and causing Lotor to laugh in return. He lifts his head to gaze at Lance lovingly. “Tell me your greatest desire and I will fetch it for you, my love. If you want the universe, you shall have it. If you want a personal army to command, it’s yours. How shall I spoil you?”

Lance blushes under the intense look and tries to think of something that will appease Lotor. If he asked this question of himself, the only answer that popped out in his mind was the only thing Lotor couldn’t get for him, not until their mission was complete at least. Other than his home, he doesn’t want much else, but Lotor is looking at him with such an earnest desire to please him that Lance makes something up.

“What I really want,” says Lance, “is a skateboard.”

Lotor’s expression goes blank, and he blinks a couple times. “A… skateboard?”

“Yeah,” Lance continues. “We have them on Earth. You ride on them and do cool tricks and stuff.”

Lotor sighs. “You know we can’t go to Earth.”

“I know,” Lance says. “But I think I’ve seen it before, at a swap moon. We can definitely find one there. And I can show you a few tricks,” he offers, wiggling his eyebrows.

Lotor snorts, but a corner of his mouth quirks into a smile. “Very well. We shall get you this skateboard as soon as possible.”

They kiss and pet, but neither of them take it further than that. They then slide out of bed. While Lance is putting on his clothes, he admires the many shades of blue in Lotor’s bedroom. “Lotor, why is your room the only room with any color on this ship?” he asks as he zips up his bodysuit.

Lotor, stopping at the door to his bathing room and turning toward Lance, answers, “Most Galra can only see black, red, and violet. My mixed heritage allows me to see a slightly broader color spectrum.”

Lance is learning new things every day about his comrades, especially about Lotor. Before Lotor turns away to bathe, Lance gets in another question. “But why blue?”

Lotor puts a hand in front of the sliding door, delaying it, and winks at Lance. “It’s my favorite color.”

\--

Honestly, since the day that deranged mall cop had chased him and his friends out of the space mall on a Kaltenecker, Lance had figured his days shopping at the swap moon were over. Never could he have guessed that his Galra boyfriend would want to take him on a relaxing trip, shower him in gifts, and (though he doesn’t know it yet) hold all his stuff while he buys half the mall.

Money used to be a struggle for Lance on Earth. Unable to hold a job due to his accident-proneness, living in a large single-mother family where resources were always strained, Lance has never had the experience of excess and luxury.

But Lotor basically owns this space mall, not to mention the official Galra treasury. As they flit from store to store, Lotor is slowly burdened with more and more stuff. Lance takes Lotor’s promise to give him anything he wants and runs wild.

“Do you really believe you will use all this?” Lotor asks after the seventh store as Lance checks himself out in a mirror.

“What? You don’t like it?” Lance turns to Lotor and poses dramatically. This particular alien fashion exposes a band of olive skin and muscle from his neck to the top of his pants. The sleek, matching dark trousers cling to his legs like they were painted on.

Lotor’s eyes rake over Lance, torn. Lance knows he looks gorgeous in it, but, he figures, Lotor doesn’t want to carry any more. “Very well,” says Lotor with a shake of his head. “Add it to the pile.”

Lance grins and cocks his hip. “I don’t know, maybe I’ll wear this one out.”

Lotor inhales, suddenly flush, and Lance laughs. When he leans in to place a kiss on Lotor’s lips, however, he sees a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. He straightens and looks toward the movement, but all that’s there are the unmoving hologram mannequins and racks of strange alien clothing.

“Did you see that?” Lance asks, or starts to. Impatient, the Galra prince grabs Lance’s arm, pulls his attention back to himself, and completes the interrupted kiss. Lance is surprised at the sudden intensity of Lotor’s kiss, but he happily reciprocates.

After this, they travel a few shops down to a footwear store. Lotor eyes a pair of spiky heeled boots while Lance’s attention is caught by a pair of hover shoes. This is a mistake, however; Lance, barely graceful enough to walk normally, loses his balance in these shoes and crashes into a shoe display.

“You try walking around in these things,” Lance spits at the laughing Lotor.

Lotor’s eyes twinkle. As they leave the poor associates to clean up the mess, he takes on Lance’s challenge and straps on the shoes. Not only does he strut like a runway model in them, he also takes Lance into his arms and spins him gracefully in a fast-paced, waltz-like dance.

“Show off,” Lance mutters as he spins back into Lotor’s hold.

Lotor grins. “Why don’t you stand on my shoes? That way, you can keep up with me.”

Lance stands on the hover shoes Lotor still wears and lets Lotor lead him in the Galra dance. At one point, he twists Lance’s arm almost painfully, but the dance is otherwise easy for Lance to follow. Levitating slightly off the ground, they turn, they step, they spin.

In the middle of a turn, Lotor’s affectionate expression changes into anger as he narrows his eyes at something over Lance’s shoulder. Before Lance can look, however, he’s dipped and thoroughly kissed by his dance partner.

Feeling self-conscious in front of the sales people, who are no doubt wishing them to leave, Lance breaks away and steps off Lotor’s shoes. “That was fun,” he says lamely. “But we should, uh, keep going. No need to waste our time when there are so many other things you can buy me.”

Lotor seems disappointed for just a moment, but he recovers with a playful sigh. “Oh joy.”

He ends up buying the hover shoes and the spiky heels, the first thing he’s gotten for himself since the trip, and Lance persuades him to leave a little extra for the store associates. 

It’s as they’re going to the next store and Lotor keeps his arm possessively locked around Lance’s waist, looking this way and that as though they’re being followed, that Lance stops and says, “Lotor, what’s going on?”

Lotor frowns. If Lance didn’t know all his disguises already, this innocent face would be convincing. “What do you mean, Lance?”

“You know what I mean,” Lance says with a roll of his eyes.

Lotor shoots a glance behind them yet again. “I really don’t.”

“Lotor.”

“Come,” says Lotor, trying to lead Lance forward, but the lieutenant has his feet planted. “Okay… Okay,” he surrenders at last, his features tight. “But I can’t tell you out here like this. We must keep suspicion low.”

A chill rolls down Lance’s spine, and he finally lets Lotor get them walking again. Lotor leads them to an expansive shop selling tiny robot companions and appliances. They wind between displays and shelves until they’re hidden well from the shop associates and the other customers before Lotor lets them stop. After a few more cautionary glances, he says, “I believe we are being followed.”

“Followed?” Lance echos. “By what? Or who?”

“Whom,” says Lotor, “and I... suspect a spy from the Blade of Marmora.”

Lance relaxes. “Oh, that’s okay then. They’re on our side.”

“No, Lance.” Lotor picks up a box with a shiny toaster-like contraption on the front and pretends to consider the price sticker on the back. Keeping his voice low, he continues, “They may have the same general goal, but they are not ‘on our side.’ They believe us to be loyal to the Galra, so we are enemies to them. This person may be an assassin.”

Lance sputters, “A-Assassin?”

“Shh!” Lotor shakes his head and sets the box down. Grabbing Lance’s shoulder, they do another series of marches through the store’s labyrinthine halls, then Lotor stops again. “It’s unlikely, but it may be true. Otherwise, they are reporting our activity to the Blade, and by extension, to Voltron.”

“I don’t understand why that’s wrong,” Lance says weakly, still thinking about the assassin.

“We don’t want anyone to know we’re mating, right?”

Lance makes a noise of protest at the word. “Uh, I think you mean ‘dating.’”

“What is ‘dating’?” Lotor stares at him, seemingly clueless about Lance’s reservations.

Lance just shakes his head. “Never mind. But,” he adds, remembering how Lotor has treated him during this shopping trip with the kissing and dancing, “wouldn’t they have figured that out by now? We’ve been a little more than buddy-buddy.”

Lotor’s mouth thins into an expressionless line. “Lance,” he says in a low voice, as though barely containing anger, “I need you to trust me on this. And do as I say. I’m doing what’s best for you.”

Lance winces at the last sentence. Somehow, Lotor’s words make him feel like a scolded child, and he finds himself mumbling, “Sorry,” though he isn’t sure what he did wrong.

 _Just do what Lotor says_ , a voice in his head tells him. _He loves you. He’s looking out for you._

Lotor adjusts the bags in his arms and starts out of the store. Lance follows, lost otherwise in the shop, and soon they’re moving on to another store.

“You know what, Lotor,” Lance pipes up. “I’m not really in the mood for shopping anymore.”

Lotor doesn’t stop or even look at Lance, too busy keeping a lookout for someone else. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lance. You shall have your skateboard and enjoy yourself, spy or no spy.”

Regardless of Lotor’s order, the mood is gone. Looking at things and dreaming of owning them isn’t as fun when you’re afraid of a knife in the back at any time. Not to mention, Lotor keeps grabbing him and forcing him into heated kisses. Not that Lance doesn’t enjoy the kisses themselves, but it reminds him that Lotor is just performing these for some reason he doesn’t trust Lance to know.

It’s after the fifth time Lotor does this and Lance feels the prince’s hand on his butt that he jerks away from Lotor and says, “Lotor, you said you wanted me to enjoy this time, right?”

“Indeed,” Lotor says, a concerned furrow between his brows. “Did I do something wrong?”

Lance sighs at the worried look and says, “No, my prince, just… I’m not having fun with you hanging around like this. I’d like to shop by myself.”

“By yourself?” Lotor shakes his head. “The assassin--”

“Must not be an assassin in your mind,” interrupts Lance, “or else we would have gone back to the ship by now.”

Silence as Lotor tries to think of a way out of this observation; Lance can see the wheels turning in his head. “Very well,” says Lotor. “But I will be nearby.”

“Deal,” says Lance before Lotor kisses him again and lets Lance get ahead of him. Lance glances back after a few minutes of walking to see Lotor following at a distance, arms still full of stuff in boxes and bags.

Out of the corner of his eye, a neon sign flashes “Coca Cola.” Lance looks, and smiles at the memory of coming to this store with Pidge what seems like ages ago. There, they bought the gaming system of their dreams, but she’d been devastated to find it incompatible with the castleship’s technology. Though Lance wasn’t as upset at the lack of video games as much as the reminder that he was far, far away from home.

Still, this store reminds him of Earth, and that’s not such a bad thing. Lance approaches, and right away, the shopkeeper singles him out. It’s the same alien who helped them last time.

“Welcome to my shop,” he gushes. “Every purchase comes with a free Kaltenecker!”

Beside him, a Kaltenecker moos and eyes Lance boredly. Lance says, “You can keep the Kaltenecker, I’ve already got one.”

As he peruses the shop, the shopkeeper is close behind him, monitoring his progress and asking if he needs any assistance every few ticks. That is until an entire display of snow globes on the other side of the shop comes crashing to the ground.

“Oh, quiznak!” the shopkeeper shrieks and hurries to the mess. Lance is about to volunteer his help when a pile of clothes beside him says, “Psst.”

Lance, startled, spins to the clothes but realizes the sound must have come from a crouched figure on the other side of the pile. He takes a step toward it, and the figure hisses, “No! Stay where you are. Act casual.”

He recognizes the voice. “Keith? Have you been the one following us?”

“Yes,” says the figure, and Lance can barely detect the mullet in shadow. “But don’t draw suspicion to yourself. I want to talk to you, alone.”

“Alone? Why don’t you…” Lance tosses a look out of the glass windows of the shop and sees the outline of Lotor on one of the benches, watching. He remembers Lotor not wanting to include Voltron in their planning. “Oh. Fair enough.”

“I want answers,” says Keith. “What’s going on, Lance? Have you been brainwashed?”

Lance makes sure the shopkeep isn’t listening--indeed, he’s merely whimpering as he strains over the mess of the snowglobes--and responds, “No, I’m not brainwashed. Did you knock that display over?”

Keith ignores this question. “Everyone thinks you’ve betrayed us, but the fact you’re talking to me right now rather than screaming for your…. for Prince Lotor tells me there’s more to the story.”

Another glance out the window, and Lance notices Lotor is standing up. He quickly pretends to consider a 70’s-era coat trimmed in fur. “Lotor isn’t that bad,” he says.

“I figured you’d say that, too,” Keith says, bitterness creeping into his voice. “You two seem awfully close. I was hoping the rumors weren’t true, but obviously, they are.”

“Rumors?” Lance echos. “People know?”

Keith adjusts slightly; Lance realizes that he’s folded his arms. “Voltron knows. The Blade knows. Was it supposed to be a secret? Because you two seem pretty happy about it.”

An indignant blush colors Lance’s cheeks, and he fights to keep his voice from rising. “Since when do you care about who I kiss or don’t kiss?”

“First of all, whom,” corrects Keith. “Second of all, I don’t. Care, anyway. I only care that you’re fraternizing with Voltron’s sworn enemy. Do you even know what you’re doing, Lance?”

Lance does not like that tone one bit. Gritting his teeth, he says, “This is exactly why I left Voltron. You guys always treat me like I’m a screw-up.”

“What are you talking about? And left? You were kidnapped,” says Keith.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lance continues. “The point is, Galra aren’t all evil like Allura wants you to believe. You of all people should know that.”

Keith is silent as Lance refolds the jacket and puts it down to eye some hair gel instead. Then he finally says, “He kidnapped you. He tried to kill us on several occasions. You _saw_ him shoot me in the chest. I don’t understand why you think he’s the good guy.”

Lance just shakes his head. “There are a lot of things you don’t know.”

“True,” says the shopkeeper beside Lance, nearly startling the lieutenant out of his skin. “But why do you say this?”

“Uh, uh, I, nothing,” Lance blurts as he drops the container of hair gel back in its place. “I was just, uh, wondering the price of…” He reaches randomly into a pile of random items on sale and produces a toilet wand. “Well, on second thought, I’m not having any luck.”

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” the shopkeeper says quickly as Lance starts to leave. Before he walks out, however, he glances back at the shadow where Keith is probably still hiding, and seething if Lance knows the mullet head at all.

“See you later,” Lance says, both to the shopkeep and the paladin, and rejoins Lotor outside.

“Didn’t find the skateboard?” Lotor guesses.

“No,” says Lance. “To be honest, I feel all shopped out. Thanks, but let’s go back.”

Lotor presses a kiss to Lance’s temple and says, “Me, too. But there’s one more thing I need to take care of, so why don’t you go ahead? I’ll rejoin you later.”

\--

Keith waits until the shopkeep has returned to the backroom to make his exit from the Earth store. He waited too long; Lance and Lotor are nowhere in sight.

It’s just as well. All of Keith’s worst suspicions have been confirmed. Feeling like a fool, a jealous, stupid fool, he starts to head back to where he hid the Red Lion.

Though he had hidden the castleship’s escape pod quite cleverly behind a large minivan-like ship, Keith steps out into the space lot to see a hoard of Galra surrounding it. There’s no way Keith can get to his pod without a fight.

Backing away before he’s seen, Keith quickly runs through his options and unsheathes his blade. He realizes, too late, that the only way his escape pod should have been recognized by the Galra is if they knew he was there, because it’s only a moment after this realization that someone grabs him from behind and shoves him into the wall.

Keith’s helmet scrapes against the wall, and his arms are twisted painfully behind his back. “Get off me!” he shouts, to no avail.

“The red paladin of the past was just as reckless and foolhardy as you,” someone behind him says as his hands are bound. The Galra soldiers holding him turn him around, and sure enough, it’s Prince Lotor. He examines his nails boredly and then smirks at Keith. “I’m disappointed by how easy this was.”

“As soon as Lance finds out--” Keith starts, but the prince interrupts with a laugh.

“Lance will never find out,” he says, his expression a cool mask. He snaps his fingers, and the Galra holding Keith escort him to their ship.


	11. The Truth Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance POV/Keith POV  
> A proposal  
> Uncertain agreements  
> A nasty surprise  
> A deadly fight  
> A mysterious threat

After circling the ship at least twice, Lance runs into Lotor emerging from the hallway connected to the Blue Lion.

Lance puts his hands on his hips in mock anger. “Where were you? I was looking all over for you.”

Lotor just looks at him, and for a moment, it seems as though he doesn’t even recognize Lance. Then his features smooth into an easy smile. “I was just checking on the Blue Lion. It’s in great shape already. What amazing technology those Alteans were capable of.”

Lance perks up at the mention of Blue. “She’s okay?” he asks excitedly, but the emotion is swiftly replaced with guilt. Not once has he thought of his lion since… well, since he started training with Lotor.

“Yes, don’t worry,” says Lotor. “I’ve been monitoring its progress. It should be fully functional within a couple dozen vargas.”

Lance’s shoulders sag with relief. Even though he’d forgotten about Blue, it was still a weight off of him to learn she was on the mend. He notices Lotor watching him expectantly, so he says, “What’s the plan once she’s completely healed?”

At that, Lotor looks both ways for prying ears. “Let’s go some place more quiet to discuss this.”

Another bout of guilt racks Lance. He just nods and follows Lotor through the winding hallways until they reach the prince’s room. Lotor dismisses the guards at the door and waits until they’re out of sight to enter.

Lance follows him in and blushes when he sees the familiar hue of Lotor’s bedroom, his favorite color and, coincidentally, all shades that could be found in Lance’s irises. He wouldn’t be forgetting too quickly the feel of Lotor’s warm skin under his hands, the way his body trembled underneath Lance’s, the sounds he had elicited…

“Lance,” Lotor says with the impatience of someone who had been trying to get his attention.

Lance snaps out of his reverie and meets Lotor’s gaze with an even redder complexion. “Yes?”

Shaking his head, Lotor perches on the couch and waits for Lance to join him before continuing. “You see, I wasn’t just checking on the Blue Lion’s progress. My mother and the council trapped me in a surprise meeting, as well. They made it very clear that you were not to be present or aware of the arrangement at all.”

That can’t be good. Lance gulps. “And?”

Lotor gently takes Lance’s hands in his and says, “We made a powerful indent in the empire’s plans by tipping off Voltron, but I’m afraid despite all my best efforts, they suspect you of treason. They require proof of your loyalty to the empire, and unfortunately, I could not move them on this matter.”

 

“Oh no,” Lance murmurs. Not even Lotor’s comforting touch can stop the rise of panic in his chest. “What does this mean?”

“It means,” says Lotor, “that we have little choice but to incarcerate you until we have some solid proof of your loyalty to us and not to Voltron.”

Lance remembers the dim, claustrophobic Galra prisons he’d seen in passing, including the one he had been in when the Galra first captured him. Not only that, but as a prisoner in these cells, he would be open to torture and interrogation to anyone who felt like it.

Lotor confirms the worst case scenario playing out in Lance’s head. “My mother is very excited at the prospect of torturing you for information. She believes if you can withstand her methods, you prove that you are loyal and also strong enough to be Galra.” Lotor turns a shade paler when he adds, “If it’s the same methods they use to interrogate suspected Blade members, then I have great fear that you will not survive it.”

“Oh, God,” Lance whimpers. He grips Lotor’s hands tightly and begs, “There has to be something we can do.”

Lotor frees his hand to cup the lieutenant’s face and gently stroke his thumb across Lance’s cheekbone. “I think there is. You see, we need proof that you’re loyal, something that can save you without question from their speculation. But the idea… it may not be ideal to you.”

“Anything,” Lance breathes.

The prince’s hand slides down Lance’s neck to rest on his shoulder. Tenderly, he says, “The best option to save you from their clutches… is to marry me.”

Lance’s breath catches in his throat. Too stunned to speak, Lotor keeps talking instead. “Marriage for Galra is a sacred tradition,” he explains. “There’s no better fix to the problem. Don’t you see? If you became my consort, not only would it mean they can’t touch you, you’d also share my power and influence over the entire Galra fleet. It’s perfect.”

“But…” Lance starts, shaking his head to clear it.

Though he hadn’t given an answer, Lotor interprets the head shake as one. He stands and glares down at Lance, his cape swirling at the sudden movement. “You would reject me? After everything I’ve done for you?”

“No, Lotor, I--” Lance starts, but the prince interrupts.

“I thought you would be happy,” he says in accusatory tones. “I love you, Lance. Don’t you love me?”

“Yes, but--”

“Apparently not, since the idea of marrying me is so repulsive to you,” Lotor snaps, and Lance’s protests fall silent again. The anger drains from Lotor’s form, and he sinks into the couch opposite Lance as though deflated. “I don’t understand. Don’t you want to avoid capture? I’m offering you freedom, but you don’t want it.”

“Of…. Of course I do,” Lance says uncertainly, because he knows he should be grateful, but something doesn’t feel right in his gut about the whole thing. Something about marrying Lotor feels like the opposite of freedom, more like he’s becoming entangled in the Voltron and Galra fight more than he ever wanted to be.

Head still held low, Lotor peeks at him from his curtain of white hair. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… yes,” Lance finishes, even as his gut twists uncomfortably. “Yes, I will marry you, Lotor.”

Lotor sits up. “Truly?”

“Truly,” says Lance, and he offers a half-hearted smile. “I would be honored.”

Lotor’s gloomy expression clears into a grin. “Oh, Lance.” He takes the lieutenant into his arms and kisses him powerfully, Before Lance can respond, however, Lotor is already stood up and striding to one of his many closets. “We have no time to waste, then. We must announce the engagement immediately… you’ll need something nice to wear… where shall we do it? Perhaps in the throne room… of course, there’s no other place…”

Lance tries to feel the excitement that is radiating off Lotor as he discusses the plans, but he can’t shake the sick feeling of being trapped in a corner. As he watches Lotor flit from space to space, searching for clothes he deems appropriate, Lance tries for light-hearted. “You have something that can fit me?”

“Of course.” Lotor looks over his shoulder at Lance then, smiling sheepishly. “While we were at the swap moon, I took the liberty of choosing an engagement outfit for you. Just to be prepared for the future.”

There’s that sick feeling again, suddenly overwhelming. Lance stands and hurries to the bathing room attached to Lotor’s bedroom. He makes it to the sink before his stomach roils and he heaves.

Lotor, clueless, continues talking for a few minutes after Lance has disappeared, but he does eventually notice. “Lance?” he calls. When he finds Lance bent over the sink, he sighs. “Oh, no. Are you ill? I knew that exotic pet shop at the swap moon seemed like a bad idea.”

Lance’s stomach is thankfully empty, so he only achieves a few dry wretches. He spits and then washes out his mouth with trembling hands. “Y-You’re right,” he says at last. “I think I am sick.”

“I guess the announcement will have to wait,” Lotor sighs. “Let’s get you to your quarters.” He loops an arm around Lance’s shoulders, and Lance leans against him, feeling too weak to stand on his own.

As they start to leave, something catches Lance’s eye. Something that would have ordinarily never been discovered but was disrupted during Lotor’s frantic searching. Something blue and white peeking out between Lotor’s black and red bodysuits.

Lance stops and stares at the blue paladin armor in Lotor’s closet, helmet and all. It looks pristine, and… larger than Lance remembers it. As though someone slightly taller than him had been wearing it.

“What is--?” Lotor stops as soon as he sees what Lance is looking at. In the reflective mirror on Lotor’s closet, Lance dimly notes the shock come over Lotor’s features. “Listen, Lance, I can explain--”

Lance jerks out of Lotor’s grasp and stares at him. Struggling to keep his voice even, he says, “What is this?”

The shock on Lotor’s face slowly relaxes into a calm facade. “It’s just where I was keeping your armor for you. Really, you should be grate--”

“You lied,” Lance whispers. “You said the helmet was destroyed so Voltron couldn’t track me. But it’s been here this whole time, hasn’t it?”

Lotor frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lance. I never said that.”

“Yes, you did!” Lance’s yell startles them both, but the sudden realization that Lotor has been lying to him starts to paint a discomforting picture of the last few months. “You lied about the paladin armor. You… You’ve been wearing it…” Lance inhales sharply. “You’ve been trying to get the Blue Lion this whole time.”

“Lance, do you hear how crazy you sound right now?” says Lotor, reaching for the human. “Why don’t we sit down and--”

“Don’t touch me!” Lance backs away from Lotor’s grasp and keeps backing away. “Keith was right. You’re a monster.”

Lotor’s face goes carefully, dangerously blank. “Keith, is it? So he did manage to talk to you at the space mall, didn’t he?”

Lance blinks. “What?”

Lotor chuckles, the sound devoid of humor, and advances toward Lance. “You lying little wretch. I knew from the way you talked about him that you wanted him instead of me.”

“What are you talking about?” Lance cries.

Suddenly, Lotor makes a swipe for him. Lance is fortunate enough to leap out of the way just in time and stumble backwards into the prince’s living area.

Lotor stalks after him like an animal chasing its prey. “Here’s the interesting thing about Princess Allura,” Lotor says in a voice so low and smooth that it makes Lance’s hair stand up. “She always was a little brat. Where my father trained me extensively from the age of nine to become the Blue Paladin, King Alfor instead offered his spoiled, weak daughter the role instead. He gave the Blue Lion to someone who didn’t deserve it!”

He lunges for Lance then, and Lance has to sprint to avoid being captured in the prince’s arms. Putting the couch between them, Lance gasps, “Lotor, wait. You don’t have to do this.”

“I was born for the Blue Lion, Lance,” Lotor snarls. Lance can see him calculating his next move and braces himself. “If you loved me, you’d realize that I’m better suited to it than you. You’re weak like she was, but I thought, maybe he’ll be selfless where she wasn’t. But you’re just like her.”

The last puzzle piece clicks into place, and Lance’s eyes widen. “You were her guardian, too, not just Haggar. You used Allura to get to the Blue Lion, didn’t you? That’s what your father instructed you to do: steal the Blue Lion from Allura.”

“She stole it from _me!_ ” Lotor shouts and leaps onto the couch.

Lance races for the door. It just moves open wide enough for him as he approaches. He bolts down the hall and glances behind him to see Lotor catching up fast.

“You can’t run from me, Lance!” he calls.

_Faster, Lance, faster!_ his inner voice screams as he turns down the hall. Pouring all his energy into his legs, Lance leans into the sprint and pushes himself as hard as he can. He doesn’t dare to look back at Lotor.

“Where are you going?!” says Lotor. The few Galra they pass watch with matching startled expressions, but thankfully they’re too surprised to intervene. Lance grabs one of them and shoves them behind him to slow Lotor down.

There’s a clattering sound of armor hitting body, of a body hitting the ground, and a freaked-out, “Sire, I’m so sorry!” But Lance doesn’t look back, just takes the stairs five at a time and puts some distance between Lotor and himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance spots the training room, open and set to a simulation but sitting unused. He darts into it and quickly climbs the computer generated monuments until he’s able to lie down on a suspended cylinder.

Breathing hard, he watches the door from his vantage and waits. His heart hammers in his chest, and his mind is racing with scenarios of what Lotor will do to him when he catches him.

Lotor, his prince, his lover… Deceiving him all along. Lance has never felt more foolish in his entire life. And he may in fact pay for it with his life.

“I know you’re here, Lance.”

Lance holds his breath as Lotor’s shadow appears in the doorway, and then Lotor. He grabs a phaser gun off the wall and slowly enters the maze. Each step reverberates and makes Lance’s heart jerk.

Lotor glares into the shadows and swings his phaser every time he spins around. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Without a body suit equipped to withstand a phaser blast, Lance is in real danger. He hides on the cylinder for a few frightful moments before it occurs to him: shoot Lotor first. He’s done it before; he can do it again.

As he starts to climb down, the doors slide shut, locking them in darkness. Lance curses himself for not grabbing either a phaser or night vision goggles.

“Laaaaance.”

Lance lowers himself down from the square he was on carefully and feels for the wall. Dragging his fingertips across it, he moves forward in a crouch, toward where he remembers the phaser guns are hanging.

“Lance, my love, let’s not argue. We can still fix this.”

It’s impossible to tell by Lotor’s footsteps where he is. They reverberate off the walls; he could be anywhere. Even right behind Lance. It’s a discomforting thought, and Lance tries to move a bit more quickly.

“If you marry me, none of this will be an issue,” continues Lotor, speaking to the darkness. Lance can’t tell for sure, but he thinks the prince sounds closer now. “Despite what Keith may have told you, I am not heartless. Those things I said, I still mean them. I still love you, Lance.”

Lance’s hand smacks a phaser gun and makes it rattle against the wall. Lotor’s footsteps pick up. Scrambling for the gun, Lance turns around and aims it just as he sees a flash of yellow in the darkness.

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot,” Lance says, voice trembling.

He hears Lotor sigh. Definitely right in front of him now. “Lance, let’s forget this,” he says soothingly. “You don’t really want to hurt me, do you? Not after all those memories we’ve shared. I know you don’t want to do it.”

Lance’s hands shake, and no doubt Lotor can see his hesitation as clear as day. “Promise you won’t hurt me,” he murmurs.

“Of course,” says Lotor.

Slowly, Lance lowers his gun.

Lotor chuckles. “It’s a good thing you’re beautiful.”

Before he can react, a blinding light emits from right in front of Lance and hits him square in the chest. Pain like a car hitting him straight-on makes Lance scream. Falling, falling, into darkness… and Lance knows no more.

\--

Keith beats his head against the bars of his prison just hard enough to cause little spikes of pain. He believes he deserves it for being so _stupid._

He can see it now: Voltron waking up and milling about to discover the Red Lion is gone. Tracing his movements only to find him on a Galra ship. If Keith survives this, he won’t mind how many times Allura, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, and Coran tell him I told you so, because he definitely deserves it.

Keith sighs. Remembering the way Lance looked at him at the swap moon, he regrets every single bad thing he’d ever said about the paladin. In a way, it was his fault that Lance was in this situation. “At least he’s probably safe,” Keith mutters. If the Galra prince loves him, and Lance loves the prince, then… as much as Keith hates it… at least Lance won’t come to harm. Not before he can figure out an escape from here and confront Lance again.

He had to keep trying. He can’t let Lance make a big mistake.

Sounds of footsteps makes Keith sit up. Galra, of course, the leading one holding a key. Keith braces for the worst.

Rather than stopping in front of his cell, however, the Galra waits outside the cell across from Keith’s. It must be another prisoner, then. Keith looks ahead to see which poor soul would be joining him.

His heart collapses when he sees two Galra carrying an unconscious Lance. Smoke rises from the blue paladin’s chest.

Keith jumps to his feet and slams his fist against the bars. “What have you done to him?” he demands.

The Galra prince himself oversees the transport of Lance into the cell. He turns his head slightly toward Keith. Rather than laugh, like Keith expects, the Galra prince just gives a weary shake of his head.

“Collect yourself, Red Paladin,” he says. “Your love is alive; I made sure of that.”

Keith ignores the bait Lotor left for him and shouts, “As soon as I get out of here, I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? You. Are. Dead.”

There it is: a smirk. Lotor’s yellow eyes dance with mischief as he considers Keith fully now. “You should save your energy, human,” he says coldly. “You’re going to need it.”

With Lance secured in the cell, the Galra prince and his soldiers march out of the dungeons. Keith slides to the ground and watches Lance for any sign of life. Desperately, he hopes Lotor did not lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, we have reached the point where Lotor's true colors shine. I know from your comments that some of you were hoping for a Lancelot happy ending, but as I said, it's just not the intention of this work. I'm going to continue with the plans I already have set for it, but as I said, I'm planning an alternative ending with happy Lancelot as a consolation after I finish this work. I tried writing an explicit chapter, but I thought it just didn't fit with this work, so we'll be leaving that out for now. Who knows, maybe the alternative ending will be a better place for it?  
> I rely on your comments and kudos to know if this is going in the right direction. If you have any concerns or thoughts, please let me know! As always, I appreciate that you're reading this work and I love you! Please have a great day, my dear reader.


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